T,E 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

Christ 
and  ] 
educa 
hersel 
Dec.  1 

Vvll0711 

Tierm 

band's 

made 
'novel, 

under         t  „  __________  ______  7     .....  _. 

she  continued  to  use  in  all  her  literary  work. 

The  titles  of  her  publications  include  :  Morton 

House  (1872);    .4  Daughter  of  Bohemia   (1874); 

The  Land  of  the  Sky  (1875);  A  Question  of  Honor 
|A  (1877);  Heart    of  Steel    (1882);   Armine    (1884); 
\TheLandofthe  Sun  (1894),  and  many  popular 
latholic  stories  and  contributions  to  magazines. 


\Tlie  . 


TIERJiAN,  Frances  Christine  (Fisher),  au- 
thor,  was  born  in  Salisbury,  N.C.,  Julj_5J_iS4g  • 
daughter  of  Col.  Charles  Frederic  and  Elizabeth 
(Caldwell)  Fisher  ;  granddaughter  of  Charles  and 
Christina  (Beard)  Fisher,  and  of  David  Franklin 

,  and  Fanny  (Alexander)  Caldwell.  She  was 
educated  at  home,  and  at  an  early  age  devoted 
herself  to  literary  pursuits.  She  was  married, 
Dec.  29,  1887,  to  James  M.  Tierman  of  Maryland, 
whom  she  accompanied  to  Mexico,  where  Mr. 
Tierman  had  mining  interests.  After  her  hus- 
band's death  in  January,  1898,  Mrs.  Tierman 
made  her  home  in  New  York  city.  Her  first 
novel,  Valerie  Aylmer,  was  published  in  1870, 
under  the  pen  name  of  "  Christian  Reid,"  which 
she  continued  to  use  in  all  her  literary  work. 
The  titles  of  her  publications  include :  Morton 
House  (1872);  A  Daughter  of  Bohemia  (1874); 
The  Land  of  the  Sky  (1875);  A  Question  of  Honor 

,(1877);  Heart    of  Steel    (1882);   Armine    (1884); 

\TJieLandofthe  Sun  (1894),  and  many  popular 

JCatholic  stories  and  contributions  to  magazines 

"  ' 


HEAET  OF  STEEL. 


A    NOVEL. 


BY 

CHRISTIAN    REID, 

AUTHOR  OP  "BONNY  KATE,"  "A  SUMMER  IDYL,"  "MORTON  HOI 
"YALEKIE  AYLatBB,"  "NINA'S  ATONEMENT,"  ETC. 


NEW  YORK : 
D.    APPLE  TON    AND    COMPANY, 

1,    3,    AND    5    BOND    STREET. 

1883. 


COPYRIGHT  BY 

APPLETON    AND    COMPANY, 

1882. 


PS 


HEABT  OF  STEEL. 


PART    I. 

CHAPTER  I. 

A  BEAUTIFUL  aufcuum  day  was  shining  over  Paris,  its  bright- 
ness softly  tempered  by  a  delicate  haze  that  draped  the  vista  of 
the  Champs-Elyse'es  and  removed  the  Arc  de  Triomphe  to  a  region 
as  visionary  as  the  memory  of  the  victories  it  recorded.  So,  at 
least,  it  appeared  to  Lester  Stanhope,  as  he  walked  up  the  great 
avenue  from  the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  his  frame  of  mind  pleas- 
antly  toned  to  unison  with  the  loveliness  of  the  day  and  the  ani- 
mation of  the  scene  around  him.  It  was  a  scene  sufficiently  fa- 
miliar,  yet  which  always  pleased  him  afresh  when  he  returned  to 
it  after  an  absence  of  some  time.  Other  places  might  charm 
more  deeply,  might  touch  chords  which  the  gay  city  of  the 
Seine  had  no  power  to  stir,  but  there  was  a  mingling  of  attrac- 
tions here  which  it  seemed  to  him  he  found  in  no  other  place. 
Where  else,  indeed,  does  one  so  nearly  touch  the  great  pulse  of 
humanity  as  in  this  brilliant  capital,  with  its  air  of  perpetual  fete, 
its  heart  of  smoldering  fire  ?  Yes,  Paris  pleased  him— that  is,  it 
pleased  his  present  mood,  which  was  but  one  of  many — as  he 
moved  onward  with  the  tide  setting  toward  the  Barri^re  de 
1'Etoile.  Every  element  of  the  scene  entered  into  his  enjoyment 
of  it — the  pearly  sky  and  the  soft  effect  of  the  receding  vista,  as 
well  as  the  crowd  flowing  along  the  broad  pavement  under  the 
yellowing  chestnuts,  the  throng  of  carriages  flashing  toward  the 
Bois. 

He  was  himself  aware  of  this,  realizing  from  his  observation 
of  others  that  he  was  exceptional  in  the  possession  of  a  nature  so 


4  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

many-sided  that  pleasure  could  flow  in  from  a  multitude  of  chan- 
nels ;  and,  without  thanking  God  like  the  Pharisee  that  he  was 
not  as  other  men,  he  was  grateful  for  the  difference  that  insured 
to  him  so  great  an  advantage  over  them.  It  was  not  the  only 
respect  in  which  Fortune  had  been  kind  to  him.  An  American 
by  birth,  he  had  been  spared  the  necessity  of  entering  into  that 
struggle  for  wealth  which  makes  life  in  America  at  once  so  crude 
and  so  feverish.  With  tastes  that  inclined  him  to  a  life  of  leisure, 
he  had  inherited  easy  means,  which  enabled  him  to  indulge  these 
tastes ;  and  he  had  spent  his  youth  in  a  series  of  delightful  wan- 
derings, which  had  in  no  degree  dulled  his  faculties  of  apprecia- 
tion and  admiration.  On  the  contrary,  so  far  was  he  removed 
from  those  who  find  their  own  shallowness  reflected  in  the  spir- 
itual and  material  world,  that  existence  seemed  to  him  overflow- 
ing with  sources  of  interest ;  and  the  eyes  that  looked  out  on  the 
Champs-Elysees  this  autumn  day  were  full  of  that  genial  obser- 
vation which  characterizes  the  true  philosopher  of  life.  He  had 
done  a  little  literary  work  which  proved  this — a  few  character- 
sketches,  in  which  every  stroke  told  like  the  touch  of  an  etcher — 
but  the  work  was  of  too  fine  and  delicate  an  order  to  have  received 
popular  attention,  or  to  have  brought  its  author  more  than  the 
careful  praise  of  discriminating  critics.  His  social  success  did  not 
rest  at  all  upon  this  basis.  Indeed,  few  of  those  who  knew  him 
socially  were  aware  that  he  had  any  pretension  to  be  regarded  as 
unhommede  lettres.  The  quiet  grace  of  his  appearance  and  man- 
ner, the  keenness  of  his  intelligence,  and  the  thoroughness  of  his 
culture  were  claims  more  easily  appreciated.  To  his  personal 
friends  he  was  also  endeared  by  a  readiness  of  sympathy  as  sin- 
cere as  it  was  unusual ;  and  he  was  one  of  the  people  who  exert 
an  influence  over  all  with  whom  they  come  in  contact,  which 
strikes  the  outside  world  as  disproportioned  to  their  apparent  im- 
portance. For  the  rest,  he  was  thirty-six  years  of  age,  had  a 
slender,  well  built  figure  of  medium  height,  penetrating  blue- 
gray  eyes,  a  mouth  which  expressed  firmness,  without  a  touch 
of  obstinacy,  the  forehead  of  a  thinker,  and  the  clear,  straight 
nose  which,  says  Lavater,  "  indicates  refinement  of  character  and 
love  of  the  fine  arts,  together  with  a  mind  capable  of  acting  and 
suffering  with  calmness  and  energy." 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  5 

As  he  advanced,  many  signs  told  him  that  other  absentees  be- 
sides himself  were  fluttering  back  to  the  asphalt  pavements. 
Several  familiar  faces  bowed  to  him  from  passing  carriages,  and 
he  knew  that  he  would  be  made  welcome  did  he  care  to  present 
himself  in  more  than  one  drawing-room  within  easy  reach.  If 
there  was  any  temptation  in  such  a  thought,  it  was  perhaps  be- 
trayed when,  in  passing  the  Avenue  Montaigne,  he  turned  his 
head  and  glanced  along  that  street.  By  one  of  those  chances 
which  occasionally  surprise  us,  his  glance  met  that  of  a  lady  who, 
seated  in  an  open  carriage,  was  driving  directly  toward  him.  She 
bowed,  smiled,  spoke  to  her  footman,  and  the  next  moment  the 
carriage  drew  up  at  the  pavement  beside  him. 

"So,  Mr.  Stanhope,  you  are  back  in  Paris!  "  she  said,  leaning 
forward  to  give  him  a  delicately  gloved  hand.  "  Why  have  you 
not  been  to  see  me  ? " 

"For  the  very  good  reason  that  I  only  arrived  in  Paris  this 
morning,"  he  answered.  "Do  you  think  I  could  possibly  have 
been  here  long  without  coming  to  see  if  you  were  again  installed 
in  your  familiar  quarters  ?  " 

"  I  returned  to  them  a  week  ago,"  she  said,  "  and  I  am  glad  to 
be  back.  No  place  suits  me  so  well  as  Paris.  I  feel  more  at  home 
here  than  anywhere  else.  I  like  the  circle  of  people  whom  I  have 
gathered  round  me ;  and  I  like— I  can't  help  liking — all  the  brill- 
iancy in  the  outward  aspect  of  things." 

"  You  speak  in  a  very  apologetic  tone,"  he  said,  smiling.  "  Why 
should  you  not  like  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  replied,  smiling  in  turn,  "  except  that  I 
fancied  you  might  think  it  a  culpable  taste,  indicating  a  low  degree 
of  culture,  perhaps.  You  see  I  stand  very  much  in  awe  of  your 
opinion." 

"  I  see  that  you  are  inclined  to  be  unkindly  satirical.  I  am  also 
sure  that,  if  I  condemned  your  liking  for  the  brightness  of  Paris, 
I  should  condemn  myself;  for  I  have  been  thinking,  as  I  walked 
np  the  Champs-Elysees,  what  a  charming  place  it  is — and  I  am 
more  than  ever  of  that  opinion  now,"  he  added,  looking  at  the 
face  before  him. 

It  was  certainly  a  very  charming  face — that  of  a  lovely  woman 
in  the  fully  developed  prime  of  her  loveliness — a  refined,  express- 


6  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

ive  face,  with  a  complexion  of  exceeding  fairness  and  delicate 
bloom,  beautiful  violet  eyes,  and  a  rich  abundance  of  sunny  hair. 
She  was  most  becomingly  and  harmoniously  dressed,  and  her  toi- 
let, which  would  have  delighted  the  eye  of  any  man,  would  have 
told  almost  any  woman  two  things :  first,  that  she  possessed  great 
•wealth ;  secondly,  that,  despite  the  serene  composure  of  her  man- 
ner, she  was  not  indifferent  to  admiration,  and  would  not  be 
averse  to  homage. 

"  I  did  not  know  that  you  ever  paid  compliments,  even  by  im- 
plication," she  replied.  "  But  I  am  glad  that  Paris  charms  you, 
because  it  may  keep  you — at  least  long  enough  for  me  to  tell  you 
a  dozen  things  that  I  have  been  treasuring  for  that  purpose." 

"  There  is  no  danger  that  Paris  will  not  keep  me  long  enough 
for  you  tell  me  all  those  things,  and  many  more  besides.  When 
may  I  come  to  see  you,  in  order  that  we  may  make  a  begin- 
ning ? " 

"  Can  you  take  breakfast  with  us  to-morrow,  in  our  old  pleas- 
ant fashion?" 

"I  shall  be  delighted  to  do  so.  Nothing  is  pleasanter  than  to 
take  up  such  habits  just  where  one  dropped  them." 

"  I  shall  expect  you,  then.  And,  that  being  settled,  I  will  not 
detain  you  longer — unless  I  may  take  you  to  your  destination,  if 
you  have  a  destination  besides  promenading  along  the  Champs- 


"I  have  a  destination;  but,  whether  I  can  allow  you  to  take 
me  to  it  or  not,  depends  upon  what  is  your  own." 

"  Mine  is  the  Bois  merely." 

"  Then,  since  you  are  so  kind,  you  may  take  me  to  Numero 
— ,  Avenue  du  Bois  de  Boulogne." 

She  drew  aside  her  silken  skirts,  as  the  footman  opened  the 
door ;  and  the  next  moment  Stanhope  found  himself  seated  by  her 
side,  rolling  up  the  avenue  toward  the  great  Arc  which,  as  they 
approached,  loomed  clearer  and  more  distinct  against  the  soft  blue 
sky. 

"  Xumero  — ,  Avenue  du  Bois  de  Boulogne !  "  she  repeated. 
"  It  strikes  me  I  know  that  house.  Did  not  the  Irvings  have  an 
apartment  there  ? " 

"  Yes.     It  is  to  a  lady  who  occupies  the  apartment  of  the  Irv- 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  7 

ings,  during  their  absence  in  America,  that  I  am  about  to  pay  a 
visit." 

"  So  you  are  about  to  pay  a  visit — and  not  to  me  I  Yet  I  fan- 
cied I  was  your  chief  friend  in  Paris." 

"  Do  not  fancy,  but  be  sure  of  it,"  he  replied,  with  a  smile. 
"This  is  a  visit  in  which  there  could  be  no  more  delay  than  in 
obeying  a  royal  command — for  what  royalty  is  like  that  of  mis- 
fortune ?  When  I  arrived  this  morning,  the  first  thing  which  I 
did  was  naturally  to  send  to  my  banker  for  letters.  Among  them 
was  a  note  from  a  lady  whom  I  have  known  long  and  well,  telling 
me  of  her  presence  in  Paris,  and  desiring  to  see  me.  You  have 
often  heard  of  her.  She  was  once"  the  Countess  "Waldegrave — she 
is  now  called  Madame  Lescar." 

"Indeed!  Of  course  I  have  heard  of  her,  but  I  have  never 
seen  her;  and  I  fancied,  somehow,  that  she  was  dead." 

"  She  has  been  dead  to  the  world  for  several  years.  After 
her  career  as  a  singer  in  America  ended,  she  came  abroad — partly 
to  educate  her  daughter ;  partly,  I  think,  because  she  likes  Europe, 
and  can  live  here  quietly  and  cheaply.  She  spends  her  winters  in 
Italy  and  her  summers  in  Switzerland.  I  have  chanced  to  be  of 
service  to  her  several  times — there  is  an  hereditary  friendship  be- 
tween our  families — and  now  she  calls  upon  me  whenever  she 
needs  a  friend." 

"  I  am  sure  she  could  not  find  a  better,"  said  his  listener. 
"  And  so  she  has  a  daughter  !  Ah,  what  a  sad  story  it  was !  I 
always  admired  her  pride  in  refusing  to  accept  anything  from  the 
man  who  sacrificed  her  to  his  ruthless  ambition." 

"  You  would  admire  much — perhaps  all — about  her,  if  you 
knew  her." 

"And  can  I  not  know  her?  I  like  to  meet  interesting  people 
as  much  as  I  dislike  meeting  commonplace  ones." 

"  It  may  be  possible,  and  she  is  certainly  worth  knowing,  for 
she  is  a  woman  who  has  borne  great  misfortunes  with  a  noble 
spirit." 

"Say  to  her,  then,  if  you  think  it  worth  while,  that  it  would 
give  me  great  pleasure  to  be  allowed  to  make  her  acquaintance. 
You  may  add,  as  a  claim  on  her  consideration,  that  my  mother 
was  Miss  Sherwood,  of  Virginia,  and  that  I  often  heard  her  speak 


8  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

of  the  beautiful  Miss  Lescar,  whom  she  knew  during  Tier  last,  and 
the  latter's  first,  season  in  Washington." 

"  I  will  make  honorable  mention  of  these  things,  and  I  do  not 
think  she  will  refuse  to  see  you.  To  old  friends — that  is,  to  those 
connected  in  any  way  with  her  old  life — she  is,  as  I  learned  in  my 
own  case,  very  accessible  ;  but,  naturally,  she  shrinks  from  meet- 
ing strangers." 

"  I  can  readily  fancy  that.  Has  she  come  to  Paris  to  remain 
for  some  time?" 

"  She  has  come  to  see  a  physician,  and  her  stay  will  be  of  un- 
certain duration.  She  has  not  been  strong  since  I  have  known 
her ;  but  she  was  less  so  when  T  saw  her  last  than  ever  before." 

"  Poor  woman !  How  terrible  it  must  be  to  her  to  think  of  the 
position  in  which  her  daughter  will  be  left  if  she  dies!  What 
will  become  of  the  child?  " 

"  She  is  no  longer  a  child.  Madame  Lescar  was  married  in 
'60,  and  this  is  '78.  Her  daughter  is  seventeen." 

"  So  old  as  that  1  And  what  is  she  like  ?  Has  she  her  mother's 
beauty,  her  mother's  charm?  " 

"  Both,  I  think,  with  a  brilliancy  which  the  mother  has  not 
— which  she  inherits  from  her  imperious  and  ambitious  father. 
There  is  something  very  striking  about  her." 

"  It  could  hardly  be  otherwise.  I  have  never  heard  but  one 
opinion  of  the  mother,  while  all  the  world  knows  what  the  father 
is.  Ah!  how  can  any  one  believe  in  earthly  retribution  who 
looks  at  that  man  ?  He  has  every  gift  of  fortune  that  his  soul 
covets — power,  rank,  wealth,  the  favor  of  his  sovereign,  the  virtual 
government  of  a  realm.  He  stands,  as  far  as  one  can  perceive,  in 
the  broadest  sunlight  of  prosperity,  while  how  deep  is  the  shadow 
in  which  the  woman  he  wronged  has  dwelt,  and  must  continue  to 
dwell!" 

"  Call  no  man  happy  till  he  dies,"  said  Stanhope.  "  Retribu- 
tion does  not  come  in  a  day.  Moreover,  there  is  one  thorn  in 
Prince  "Waldegrave's  triumph.  The  woman  who  is  now  called 
his  wife  brought  him  great  riches  and  a  noble  name,  but  she  has 
borne  no  children." 

"  And,  like  all  men  of  his  type,  no  doubt  he  would  like  to 
found  a  house.  I  am  glad  that  he  is  disappointed — that  there  is 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  9 

one  thorn  beneath  his  splendor !  I  wonder — "  she  hesitated  for  a 
moment,  "  what  the  woman  whom  he  flung  out  of  his  path  has 
thought  of  that  splendor?  It  was  hard  to  be  so  near  such  a 
height  and  to  be  cast  down  so  utterly — that  is,  if  she  be  an  am- 
bitious woman." 

"  I  do  not  think  she  is  an  ambitious  woman.  I  should  not 
judge,  from  my  knowledge  of  her  character,  that  she  has  ever  re- 
gretted the  loss  of  the  exalted  station  of  which  she  was  robbed." 

"  Yet  it  is  such  an  exalted  station  that  even  I,  who  am  not 
ambitious,  can  imagine  that  it  would  be  possible  to  regret  it." 

Stanhope  looked  with  a  smile  into  the  fair  countenance  beside 
him. 

"Shall  I  remind  you,"  he  said,  "of  the  old  counsel,  'Know 
thyself?" 

She  met  his  glance  with  one  of  surprise.  "  Do  you  mean  that 
you  take  me  to  be  ambitious  ?  For  once,  you  are  mistaken.  If 
one  is  ambitious,  one  entertains  willingly  the  thought  of  change  ; 
is  it  not  so  ?  But  I  like  the  position  I  occupy  too  well  to  desire 
to  exchange  it  for  any  other." 

"  It  is  certainly  an  enviable  position,"  he  said  ;  "  yet  I  think 
the  time  will  come  when  you  will  look  upon  it  as  only  the  step- 
ping-stone to  something  more  brilliant." 

"Do  you?  Take  care!  Prophecy  is  always  unsafe — never 
more  unsafe  than  when  it  concerns  a  woman. — Oui,  d  gauche" 

This  to  the  footman — for  they  had  now  passed  around  the 
Place  de  I'fitoile,  and  were  entering  the  Avenue  du  Bois  de  Bou- 
logne. Turning,  as  indicated,  into  the  upper  road\vay  to  the  left, 
the  carriage  presently  stopped  at  the  gate  of  one  of  the  houses 
which  are  situated  there. 

"  I  shall  know  where  to  come  if  Madame  Lescar  will  receive 
me,"  said  the  lady.  "  How  glad  I  am  to  have  met  you !  Do  not 
forget  to-morrow.  Adieu." 

The  next  instant  the  gracious  presence  was  gone,  and  Stan- 
hope, looking  after  the  carriage,  said  to  himself  with  a  smile : 

"Does  one  never  know  one's  self?  Does  the  vain  man  al- 
ways fancy  himself  modest,  the  proud  man  believe  that  he  is  hum- 
ble ?  It  is  not  a  bad  rule  in  life  to  take  for  granted  that  we  are 
just  the  opposite  of  what  we  esteem  ourselves  to  be.  No  doubt 


10  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

she  is  sincere  in  thinking  that  she  is  not  amhitious ;  and  ambitious, 
in  a  vulgar  sense,  she  is  not.  But  of  a  character  so  flexile  and 
adaptive  the  ideal  woman  of  the  world  is  formed.  She  ought  to 
fill  a  great  position ;  and  there  is  no  position,  however  great,  that 
she  would  not  adorn.  Give  her  a  month  in  a  palace,  and  she 
•would  bear  herself  as  if  born  to  the  purple !  " 

With  this  summary — and  there  was  nothing  he  so  much  en- 
joyed as  analyzing  a  character,  and  describing  it  for  his  own  satis- 
faction in  epigrammatic  phrases — he  turned  and  passed  through 
an  open  gate  into  a  court-yard,  with  buildings  on  three  sides,  and 
in  the  center  a  fountain  round  which  shrubs  and  flowers  were 
planted.  To  the  right  was  a  porte  cochere  opening  on  another 
street ;  to  the  left  a  flight  of  steps  leading  to  a  door  which  he  en- 
tered, and,  mounting  a  staircase  within,  rang  the  bell  au  seconde. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  servant—  a  white-capped  maid — who  answered  his  sum- 
mons, replied  in  the  affirmative  to  his  question  if  Madame  Lescar 
was  at  home,  and  taking  his  card  showed  him  into  a  small,  pretty 
drawing-room.  He  knew  the  apartment  well,  for  the  absent 
Irvings  often  received  their  friends  there  in  an  informal  fashion, 
and  all  the  tables  and  cabinets  and  chairs  seemed  to  his  fancy  to 
smile  a  welcome — as  if  saying,  "  Ah,  you  and  we  remember  some 
pleasant  hours !  "  The  windows  were  open  to  the  soft  air  of  the 
delicious  day,  and  before  them  lay  one  of  the  gayest  scenes  in  all 
gay  Paris — the  Avenue  du  Bois  de  Boulogne  in  the  full  tide  of 
its  afternoon  brightness.  The  great  roadway  was  thronged  with 
equipages,  people  were  walking,  equestrians  were  riding,  and  over 
the  whole  scene  of  animated  movement  the  sunlight  was  stream- 
ing— that  sunlight  of  Paris  which  seems  to  have  in  it  the  quality 
of  champagne. 

Like  all  persons  who  possess  in  any  degree  the  artistic  tem- 
perament, Stanhope  was  very  impressionable  to  outward  influ- 
ences; but  this  picture  did  not  affect  him  as  that  of  the  Champs- 
Elys6es  had  done — probably  because  he  was  now  under  an  influ- 
ence which  brought  forcibly  to  his  mind  (what  was  never  far 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  11 

from  its  realization)  the  depth  of  sadness  which  might  underlie 
this  glittering  surface.  He  walked  to  one  of  the  windows,  but, 
before  he  had  stood  there  more  than  a  minute,  a  portUre  on  the 
other  side  of  the  room  was  drawn  back,  and  a  lady  entered. 

A  slender  figure  almost  shadowy  in  its  thinness,  yet  preserving 
the  grace  that  accompanies  perfect  proportion ;  a  face  with  soft 
olive  complexion,  features  as  purely  chiseled  as  those  of  a  head 
on  an  antique  cameo,  and  large,  dark  eyes  of  wonderful  luster. 
The  hair  which  crowned  this  face  was  of  snowy  whiteness,  and, 
with  something  of  the  effect  which  is  given  by  a  powdered  coif- 
fure, it  served  to  deepen  and  throw  into  relief  the  splendor  of 
the  eyes  and  the  dark  beauty  of  the  finely  finished  brows  and 
sweeping  lashes. 

"  Ah,  you  have  come  at  last !  "  she  said  in  a  voice  of  cordial 
eagerness,  as  she  held  out  her  hand.  "  I  began  to  fear  that  it 
might  be  some  time  before  I  saw  you." 

"I  only  reached  Paris  this  morning,"  Stanhope  answered, 
"  and  have  made  haste  to  obey  your  summons.  I  am  very  sorry 
that  it  should  have  been  so  long  in  reaching  me ;  but  during  the 
last  ten  days  I  have  been»on  the  homeward  road,  and  my  letters 
have  not  been  forwarded." 

"  I  was  sure  that  the  delay  was  not  yours,"  she  said,  with  an 
exquisite  smile;  "but  I  should  have  been  none  the  less  sorry  if  I 
had  not  seen  you." 

"You  are  leaving  Pari?  soon,  then  1 "  he  asked,  with  some  sur- 
prise. 

"I  may  be  leaving  Paris  soon,  to  go  on  a  very  long  journey," 
she  replied.  "  But  we  will  not  talk  of  that  now.  I  am  so  very 
glad  to  see  you !  Let  us  sit  down." 

He  had  been  holding  her  hand  up  to  this  point.  Now  he  re- 
linquished it,  and,  following  her  example,  sat  down,  drawing  his 
chair  close  to  the  sofa  on  which  she  sank. 

Being  thus  on  a  level  with  her,  he  saw  more  plainly  traces  of 
physical  suffering  on  the  face  which  was  none  the  less  stamped 
with  ineffaceable  beauty.  The  cheeks  were  pale  and  sunken,  but 
the  nose  was  like  a  piece  of  fine  carving,  and,  although  there  was 
something  of  the  habitual  compression  which  indicates  habitual 
pain  about  the  mouth,  the  lips  were  still  lovely  in  oirtline.  It  was 


12  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

a  very  spirituelle  face,  gentle  but  also  thoughtful,  refined  by  suf- 
fering, and  calm  now  with  the  supreme  calmness  of  one  who  has 
passed  through  the  stress  and  anguish  of  conflicts  in  which  the 
soul  wrestled  with  despair,  and  has  come  forth  victor. 

"  Tell  me  what  you  have  been  doing  since  I  heard  from  you 
last,"  she  said,  kindly.  "  There  is  time  enough  to  talk  of  my 
..affairs — I  feel  at  ease  about  them  since  I  see  you.  Tell  me  first 
about  yourself." 

This  Stanhope  was  reluctant  to  do,  and  he  would  fain  have 
passed  over  in  very  general  terms  the  account  of  his  summer  in 
Norway;  but  her  interest  was  keen,  and  she  asked  questions  which 
obliged  him  to  give  many  details  of  his  travels.  But  at  last  he 
said,  a  little  impatiently : 

"  You  must  not  insist  upon  my  talking  of  myself  when  there  is 
so  much  that  I  wish  to  hear  from  you  !  Above  all,  I  am  anxious 
about  your  health — and  you  have  not  told  me  what  the  physicians 
think  of  it." 

"  There  is  some  news  which  it  is  not  well  to  be  in  haste  to 
hear,"  she  answered.  "You  will  be  sorry  to  learn  that  the  phy- 
sicians find  no  good  to  say  of  me." 

"Do  they  think  you  dangerously  ill?  "  he  asked,  quickly. 

She  met  his  gaze  with  perfect  calmness,  and  there  was  no 
change  of  countenance  as  she  replied : 

"  They  think  me  hopelessly  ill — and  that  is  why  I  wished  so 
much  to  see  you." 

"Good  Heavens!"  exclaimed  Stanhope.  He  could  say  no 
more,  but  what  he  felt  was  written  so  plainly  on  his  face  that  she 
extended  her  hand  and  touched  his. 

"There  is  nothing  for  which  to  be  sorry,"  she  said,  in  a  tone 
of  sweetness.  "  Believe  me,  I  have  no  regret — none — except  for 
Irene." 

He  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it  before  speaking.  Then  he  said : 
"  I  can  well  understand  that  to  you  there  is  nothing  to  regret ;  but 
I  can  not  believe  this  sentence.  You  must  have  other  advice." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  There  is  no  need  of  other  advice,"  she 
said,  "/was  sure  before  the  doctors  spoke;  but  I  saw  two,  in 
both  of  whom  you  will  have  confidence" — and  she  mentioned 
eminent  names.  u  They  were  reluctant  to  tell  me  the  truth ;  but, 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  13 

when  I  expressed  my  own  belief,  they  acknowledged  that  I  was 
right.  Indeed,  my  lease  of  life  is  even  shorter  than  I  fancied.  It 
is  certainly  measured  by  months ;  it  may  even  be  measured  by 
weeks." 

Silence  fell  for  a  moment.  What  could  Stanhope  say  ?  He  was 
inexpressibly  grieved,  and,  despite  his  forebodings,  deeply  shocked. 
But  the  time  of  deepest  feeling  is  the  time  when  speech  is  least 
possible.  After  an  instant,  it  was  Madame  Lescar  herself  who 
spoke  again : 

"  Since  this  is  the  case,  I  must  put  my  worldly  affairs  in  order 
without  delay.  What  I  have  already  said,  I  repeat — I  have  but 
one  regret  in  leaving  life,  and  that  is  for  my  daughter." 

"No  one  can  take  your  place  to  her,"  said  Stanhope,  in  a  tone 
full  of  emotion  ;  "but  have  you  not  friends  and  relatives?  " 

"  I  have  a  brother  in  America — the  only  one  of  my  immediate 
family  left — but  he  is  in  narrow  circumstances,  and  burdened  by 
a  large  family.  I  should  not  like  to  send  Ir£ne  to  him,  even 
though  she  will  be,  moderately  speaking,  independent.  Besides, 
I  do  not  think  she  would  remain  there.  So,  why  attempt  to  make 
an  incongruous  arrangement — one  which  could  not  last?"  She 
hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  added:  "You  do  not  know  Irene. 
You  can  not  tell  why  it  is  that  for  many  reasons  I  am  most  anx- 
ious about  her  future." 

"  I  know  her  partially — and  I  can  imagine  your  anxiety.  What 
mother  would  not  be  anxious  for  the  future  of  one  so  young,  so 
beautiful—" 

"  And  so  desolate  !  "  she  said,  as  he  paused.  "  Why  hesitate 
to  speak  what  is  in  my  mind  as  well  as  in  yours?  But  that 
is  not  all.  Irene  has  a  nature  which  makes  me  tremble.  If  I 
lived,  I  could  control  her  through  her  affections,  which  are 
as  strong  as  her  passions.  But  after  I  am  gone  what  will  re- 
strain her?" 

There  was  so  much  subdued  anguish  in  the  tono  of  the  last 
words  that  Stanhope  was  startled. 

"  What  do  you  fear  for  her  ?  "  he  asked,  involuntarily. 

"  What  do  I  not  fear!  "  she  answered.  "  What  mistake  is  not 
possible  to  a  girl  so  young,  of  beauty  so  great,  of  mind  so  independ- 
ent, of  will  so  strong,  and  feelings  so  intense?  Can  you,  who  have 


14  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

imagination  as  well  as  worldly  knowledge,  conceive  a  more  dan- 
gerous combination  of  qualities  ?  No!" — as  Stanhope  shook  his 
head — "  I  am  sure  you  can  not.  Then  add  to  this  that  her  knowl- 
edge of  the  wrong  done  to  us,  to  her  as  well  as  to  me,  has  had  a 
deep,  an  almost  transforming  effect  upon  her  character.  Since  she 
learned  the  truth — and,  as  she  grew  toward  womanhood,  I  felt 
bound  to  tell  it  her — she  has  been  a  changed  creature.  She  is, 
perhaps,  even  more  passionately  attached  to  me  than  before; 
but,  of  the  depth  of  her  resentment  against  the  doer  of  the  wrong, 
I  can  give  you  no  idea.  She  is  intensely  proud — my  poor  child ! 
— so  you  can  imagine  how  she  is  stung  by  the  thought  of  what 
she  should  have  been,  and  what  she  is.  Ah,  I  have  suffered  over 
again  for  her  all  that  I  suffered  for  myself  in  the  years  of  agony 
that  are  gone !  And  never  before  have  I  so  clearly  realized  the 
fact  that  it  is  in  the  nature  of  wrong  to  perpetuate  wrong,  as 
when  I  see  the  strength  of  a  character  which  should  be  so  noble 
turned  into  bitterness." 

"  But  can  she  learn  no  lesson  from  you  ? r  said  Stanhope.  "  I 
should  think  such  feelings  natural  if  she  had  not  before  her  eyes 
your  example ;  if  she  did  not  see  that,  instead  of  suffering  wrong 
to  drag  you  down  to  bitterness,  it  has  elevated  and  purified  you." 

"  If  it  has  done  so  in  any  degree,  remember  that  it  has  been 
after  years  of  suffering,  of  tears  and  prayers  unnumbered.  She 
is  so  young — she  has  not  yet  suffered  much ;  she  has  not  wept 
many  tears,  and  she  has  not  learned  how  to  pray,  for  most  of  us 
are  such  poor  creatures  that  grief  must  teach  us  that.  Then,  she 
has  a  fiery  element  in  her  nature  which  was  never  in  mine.  I 
recognize  in  her  many  traits — of  her  father.  She  has  his  indomi- 
table resolution,  his  ambition,  and  many  of  his  intellectual  quali- 
ties. But,  thank  God !  she  has  not  his  selfishness,  nor  his  hard- 
ness of  heart.  A  more  loving  heart  than  hers  does  not  exist ;  but 
as  yet  she  has  only  loved  her  mother — and  her  mother  must  leave 
her  so  soon !  " 

For  the  first  time  her  voice  faltered,  and  two  large  luminous 
tears  gathered  in  her  eyes.  She  dried  them  quickly,  and  went 
on: 

"  Do  not  think,  my  friend,  that  this  is  idle  talk ;  that  I  desired 
to  see  you  merely  to  relieve  my  mind  by  pouring  out  my  trouble. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  15 

I  have  described  my  poor  Irene  because  I  want  you  to  understand 
her  character,  in  order  to  advise  me  with  regard  to  her.  I  must 
leave  her — there  is  no  help  for  that — and,  although  I  am  sure  that 
God  will  not  forsake  her,  there  are  some  arrangements  for  her 
future  which  I  must  make,  in  which  there  is  scope  for  both  wis- 
dom and  folly." 

"  I  will  advise  you  to  the  best  of  my  ability,"  replied  Stanhope. 
"  Tou  are  sure  of  that." 

"  Listen,  then,  to  a  brief  account  of  my  position.  When  I 
quitted  America,  I  left  there,  safely  invested,  the  sum  of  thirty 
thousand  dollars,  money  that  I  made  as  a  singer.  On  the  interest 
of  this  we  have  lived  in  comfort,  and  I  have  educated  Irene.  If 
I  had  continued  to  sing  I  could  have  made  more,  but  the  life  was 
so  intensely  distasteful  to  me  that  I  left  it  as  soon  as  I  could  feel 
assured  that  I  had  enough  for  our  wants  and  her  education.  This 
small  fortune  I  will,  of  course,  secure  to  her;  but  she  needs  for 
several  years  a  trustee  or  guardian.  Now,  tell  me  frankly,  am  I 
asking  too  much  of  your  friendship  when  I  say,  will  you  be  that 
guardian  ?  " 

"  Madame !  "  said  Stanhope.  He  was  exceedingly  and  not 
agreeably  surprised.  There  was  not  probably  in  the  world  a  man 
to  whom  the  offer  of  such  a  responsibility  could  have  been  more 
unwelcome.  It  was  opposed  to  every  habit  and  every  principle  of 
his  life ;  and,  as  an  immediate  instinct  warned  him,  full  of  immense 
annoyance.  Money  to  look  after,  when  he  did  no  more  looking 
after  his' own  than  was  strictly  necessary;  and  a  girl  of  the  most 
dangerous  dispositions  to  guide,  or  attempt  to  guide,  and  keep 
clear  of  the  difficulties  into  which  she  was  sure  to  rush !  He 
foresaw  unnumbered  troubles,  and  it  spoke  much  for  the  kindness 
of  his  heart,  the  depth  of  his  sympathy,  that  he  did  not  at  once 
ntter  a  decided  negative.  As  it  was,  he  said  after  an  instant, 
"  Pardon,  but  before  I  answer  the  question,  permit  me  to  ask, 
would  not  your  brother  be  a  more  suitable  person  than  myself?  " 

"  No,"  she  answered.  "  My  brother,  as  I  have  said,  is  over- 
burdened with  his  own  affairs,  and  naturally  has  little  interest  to 
spare  from  his  struggling  family.  Then,  have  I  described  Ir£ne 
to  such  little  purpose  that  you  do  not  see  that  what  she  needs,  and 
what  I  desire  above  all  things  to  secure  for  her,  is  the  control  and 


16  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

guidance  of  a  nature  capable  of  comprehending  and  influencing 
her  ?  Fancy  such  a  character  as  hers,  with  her  story  and  her 
training,  placed  among  my  brother's  kind,  commonplace  children  I 
Do  you  not  see  that  she  would  break  her  bonds  in  a  short  time, 
and  go  away— to  destruction,  perhaps?  No,  it  would  never  do! 
And  so,  my  only  hope  is  in  you.  I  am  poor  in  friends,  but,  were 
I  rich  in  them,  I  should  still  prefer  you  for  this  trust  to  any  ono 
else  in  the  world ;  for  I  have  not  only  tested  you — and  I  can  not 
speak  now  of  what  I  have  found  you ! — but  you  possess,  in  the 
highest  degree  of  any  one  whom  I  have  ever  known,  the  ability 
to  read  such  a  nature  as  Irene's,  and  the  wisdom  to  guide  it.  I 
should  feel  safe  if  I  left  her  to  your  care ;  but,"  she  added,  with 
a  pathetic  smile,  "  do  not  let  my  selfishness  make  you  accede  to 
my  request  if  it  would  be  too  great  a  trouble." 

These  words  overcame  Stanhope's  hesitation,  and  made  him 
feel  that  anything  was  easier  than  to  refuse  a  request  which, 
granted,  would  give  partial  peace  to  the  last  days  of  this  Pad 
life. 

"  Do  not  speak  of  trouble,"  he  said,  earnestly.  "  I  will  do  any- 
thing to  serve  you.  Make  me  what  you  will.  If  I  hesitated,  it 
was  because,  though  somewhat  past  the  "beau  gar f on  age,  I  fear  I 
am  not  yet  old  enough  to  undertake  the  guardianship  of  a  young 
lady." 

"  I  never  thought  of  your  taking  personal  charge  of  her,"  said 
Madame  Lescar.  "  All  I  ask  is  that  you  will  hold  her  fortune, 
and  guide  her  life  as  far  as  possible.  I  must  find  a  home  for  her 
— though  where  and  with  whom  I  know  not.  Have  you  thought 
of  anything  ? " 

This  question  was  drawn  forth  by  a  start  which  Stanhope 
made,  and  by  a  sudden  change  in  his  face.  In  fact,  an  idea  had 
occurred  to  him  with  the  force  of  an  inspiration — but  he  refrained 
from  uttering  it. 

"  A  thought  has  suggested  itself  to  me,"  he  replied,  "  which  I 
may  tell  you  hereafter — if,  on  reflection,  I  decide  that  it  is  worth 
telling." 

"I  have  implicit  reliance  on  your  judgment,"  she  answered. 
Then  she  looked  at  him  a  little  wistfully.  "  I  fear  your  consent 
to  my  request  has  cost  you  something,"  she  said.  "If  so,  let  it 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  17 

console  you  that  you  have  given  me  great  happiness.  I  shall  sleep 
in  peace  to-night." 

"  I  am  not  worthy  of  your  kindness,"  he  said,  deeply  moved ; 
"  but  I  shall  spare  no  effort  to  deserve  your  trust.  Believe  that." 

"  I  do  believe  it,"  she  replied,  gratefully. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause — then  Stanhope,  seeing  that  her 
face  had  grown  paler,  said : 

"  I  must  not  tax  your  strength  further.  But,  before  I  go,  let 
me  say  that,  on  my  way  here,  I  met  a  lady  who  has  heard  much 
of  you,  and  who  desires  to  be  allowed  to  make  your  acquaintance. 
I  think  I  may  venture  to  promise  that  you  will  like  her." 

She  shrank  a  little.  "Even  if  I  cared  to  make  any  new 
acquaintance,"  she  said,  "  I  am  not  strong  enough  to  do-  so.  Who 
is  this  lady  ?  " 

"  Her  name  is  Mrs.  Falconer.  She  is  an  American,  but  the 
widow  of  an  Englishman.  She  told  me  that  her  mother  was  a 
Miss  Sherwood,  of  Virginia — who  knew  you  in  Washington,  when 
you  made  your  debut  there." 

"Miss  Sherwood!  "  repeated  Madame  Lescar,  like  one  who 
searches  memory  for  the  association  of  a  name.  "  Ah,  yes — I  re- 
member. She  was  the  daughter  of  one  of  my  father's  friends  and 
political  confreres.  She  was  older  than  myself,  and  was  married, 
during  my  first  season,  to  one  of  the  representatives  from  Ken- 
tucky. And  now  her  daughter  is  a  widow !  Surely  time  flies !  " 

"  A  very  young  widow.  I  do  not  think  she  can  be  more  than 
twenty-five  or  six." 

"  Certainly  not  more.  And  how  did  she  chance  to  marry  an 
Englishman  ?  Was  she  an  heiress  ?  " 

"  A  very  great  heiress.  Her  parents  died  in  her  early  youth, 
and  an  uncle,  who  had  made  a  large  fortune  in  Colorado,  adopted 
her,  and  placed  her  at  the  head  of  his  household  as  his  acknowl- 
edged heiress.  She  is  very  lovely,  so  you  may  imagine  that  she 
did  not  lack  suitors.  Among  them  was  a  young  Englishman — one 
of  those  men  of  good  family  who  have  lately  gone  to  the  West  in 
considerable  numbers,  in  the  hope  of  bettering  their  fortunes. 
This  man  was  proved,  by  after-events,  to  be  a  mauvais  sujet  of  the 
worst  type ;  but  he  must  have  had  a  great  outside  polish  and 
charm.  He  was  handsome,  accomplished,  just  the  man  to  fasci- 


18  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

nate  a  girl  with  longings  for  a  higher  type  of  manhood  than  her 
experience  furnished.  She  accepted  him,  subject  to  her  uncle's 
approval.  Her  uncle  disapproving,  but  having  no  very  valid  rea- 
son for  doing  so,  wrote  to  the  family  of  the  gentleman.  They — 
pleased,  no  doubt,  at  the  prospect  of  washing  their  hands  of  him 
in  so  satisfactory  a  manner — replied,  with  a  statement  of  his  past 
more  rose-colored  than  true.  Then  Mr.  Joscelyn  (the  uncle)  put 
the  suitor  on  probation.  '  I  never  do  anything  without  a  good 
reason,'  he  said  to  his  niece,  'and  I  have  no  good  reason  for  refus- 
ing to  allow  you  to  engage  yourself  to  him ;  but  I  insist  upon 
knowing  what  kind  of  a  man  he  is  before  I  let  you  marry  him.' 
This  was  a  sensible  precaution ;  but,  unfortunately,  the  speaker 
died  a  month  later.  He  had  left  all  his  fortune  to  his  niece  ;  and 
she  soon  bestowed  herself  and  it  on  Mr.  Falconer.  She,  who  told 
me  this,  has  never  said  much  of  what  followed — but  what  did  fol- 
low was  the  bitterest  disappointment.  She  had  married  a  man 
of  the  most  dissipated  and  extravagant  habits,  whose  God  was 
self-indulgence,  and  who  valued  her  only  in  proportion  to  the 
means  which  she  brought  for  this  self-indulgence.  Like  all  men 
of  his  description,  he  had  neither  a  heart  to  be  touched  nor  a 
sense  of  honor  to  be  roused.  Immediately  after  their  marriage 
they  went  to  England,  and  there  the  girl  learned  fully  in  what 
manner  she  had  wrecked  her  life.  A  few  years  of  association 
with  the  man  would  have  broken  her  heart  and  wasted  her  for- 
tune ;  but,  happily,  he  killed  himself  speedily  by  his  excesses,  and 
she  was  once  more  free.  Then  she  took  her  life  into  her  own 
hands.  The  family,  who  had  deceived  instead  of  warning  her, 
were  disposed  to  be  exceedingly  cordial,  and  to  take  so  much 
American  money  nnder  their  warmest  protection.  But  this  pro- 
tection she  declined.  She  came  to  Paris,  and  here  she  has  chiefly 
lived— growing  more  attractive  every  year,  and  so  enamored  of 
the  freedom  which  has  been  restored  to  her  that  I  hardly  believe 
she  will  ever  resign  it  again.  But  I  fear  I  have  weaned  you  with 
this  long  story  ?  " 

"No,  I  have  been  much  interested,"  replied  Madame  Lescar, 
with  a  faint  smile.  "  Tell  your  friend  to  come  to  see  me.  I  may 
not  be  able  to  receive  her;  but  she  will  take  the  chance,  per- 
haps. Ah,  how  many  forms  of  suffering  there  are !  and  who  shall 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  19 

say  which  is  worst  ?  But  now  I  must  ask  you  to  go — I  feel  that 
my  strength  is  indeed  exhausted.** 

Eegarding  her  with  sudden  self-reproach,  he  saw  that  her 
pallor  had  increased,  and  that  she  looked  as  if  she  might  be  ahout 
to  faiut.  He  rose  at  once. 

"I  can  not  leave  you  alone,"  he  said.  "Shall  I  not  summon 
some  one? " 

She  pointed  to  a  bell,  then  leaned  back  and  closed  her  eyes, 
the  dark  lashes  resting  like  a  silken  fringe  on  the  clear  ivory  of 
her  cheeks.  "  Touch  that,"  she  said. 

He  touched  it  and  went  without  another  word.  To  the  serv- 
ant who,  simultaneously  with  himself,  appeared  in  the  vestibule, 
he  said : 

"Madame  is  not  well.     Go  to  her  at  once." 

"Ah,  madame  has  exerted  herself  too  much,"  replied  the 
maid,  with  French  freedom  and  a  French  shrug.  "  Mademoiselle 
has  been  very  uneasy ;  and,  listen ! — she  is  already  there." 

Indeed1,  through  the  only  partially  closed  door  of  the  salon 
Stanhope  heard  a  soft  rush  of  drapery,  and  a  voice  sweet  and  full 
of  tenderness  as  a  mother's  to  an  infant,  cry : 

"O  mamma  darling,  why  have  you  done  this!  " 

He  carried  the  sound  of  that  voice  with  him  into  the  outer 
world ;  and  its  sadness — suggesting  all  the  certain  desolation  be- 
fore this  young  and  friendless  creature — robbed  the  sunshine  of 
something  of  its  brightness. 


CHAPTER  III. 

IT  was  a  little  after  noon  the  next  day  when  Stanhope  de- 
scended from  &  fiacre  before  the  door  of  an  hotel  in  the  Avenue 
Montaigne,  and,  entering  under  the  wide  porte-coch&re,  mounted 
to  the  first  floor. 

The  servant  who  answered  his  ring  admitted  him  into  a  cor- 
ridor, where  exotics  in  tall  vases  and  large  lamp-bearing  statues 
of  bronze  on  each  side  of  a  mirror  like  a  sheet  of  crystal  gave  an 
impression  at  once  of  luxury  and  beauty.  The  foot  sank  sound- 
lessly into  the  thick  carpet  which  covered  the  floor,  and,  through 


20  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

the  parted  folds  of  heavy  velvet  portttres,  the  glance  passed  into 
lofty  and  spacious  salons.  Turning  from  these,  however,  the  man 
led  the  way  down  the  corridor,  saying : 

"  Madame  is  in  her  houdoir ;  she  will  receive  monsieur  there." 

It  was  not  unfamiliar  to  Stanhope,  the  sanctuary  into  which 
he  was  then  introduced,  a  room  with  furniture  and  hangings 
of  soft  India  silk,  and  a  wealth  of  comfort  in  the  form  of  easy- 
chairs,  couches,  and  cushions,  with  beautiful  cabinets,  mirrors  in 
Venetian  frames,  low  carved  book-cases,  well  filled ;  a  writing- 
table  covered  with  every  possible  convenience  for  correspondence, 
and  on  the  walls  excellent  aquarelles,  interspersed  with  photo- 
graphs of  places  and  people,  the  last  a  collection  of  personal 
friends  and  literary  celebrities.  As  the  door  opened,  a  lady  rose 
from  a  chair  beside  the  writing-table,  and,  putting  down  the  morn- 
ing "Figaro,"  advanced  to  receive  him.  It  was  the  lady  of  the 
Champs-Ely  sees,  who  was  even  lovelier  in  a  becoming  toilette 
negligee  than  she  had  looked  when  arrayed  for  the  Bois. 

"  JBonjour,  M.  Stanhope,"  she  said,  with  a  cordial  smile.  "  I 
am  delighted  to  see  you — and  here  is  Aunt  Marion,  who  is  as 
glad  as  I  am  to  welcome  you  back  again." 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Stanhope?  "  said  an  elderly  lady,  who, 
seated  near  a  window,  was  busy  with  some  netting.  "I  am  cer- 
tainly very  glad  to  see  you.  Come  and  shake  hands  with  me, 
for  my  rheumatism  is  troublesome  again,  and  I  rise  with  diffi- 
culty." 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Vance,  it  is  a  great  pleasure  to  see  you,"  said 
Stanhope,  crossing  the  floor  to  shake  hands  as  requested ;  "  but  I 
am  very  sorry  to  hear  such  a  bad  account  of  the  rheumatism." 

"  It  is  shameful  of  Aunt  Marion  to  be  suffering  with  rheuma- 
tism," said  Mrs.  Falconer,  "when  I  sacrificed  a  month  of  my 
summer  to  take  her  to  Wildbad  in  the  Tyrol  for  the  hot  baths ; 
and  she  declared  herself  cured  by  them." 

"  Improved,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Vance,  tranquilly.  "  And  I 
don't  feel  at  all  overpowered  by  your  sacrifice  of  a  month,  for  I 
think  you  enjoyed  "Wildbad  quite  as  much  as  I  profited  by  the 
baths." 

"I  enjoyed  it  very  much,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "The  Tyrol 
delighted  me.  You  know  it,  of  course,  Mr.  Stanhope— what  do 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  21 

you  not  know  ?  Are  you  not  afraid  of  exhausting  this  woi-ld  be- 
fore you  are  ready  for  another." 

"Not  in  the  least,"  replied  Stanhope,  with  a  smile.  "I  am 
half  through  the  allotted  term  of  man's  life,  and  I  have  not  nearly 
half  finished  the  world.  The  continents  of  Asia  and  Africa  lie 
unexplored  before  me,  to  say  nothing  of  Oceania." 

"  We  can  not  allow  you  to  undertake  the  exploration  of  them 
just  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  You  are  far  too  necessary  to 
your  friends.  Apropos,  was  your  visit  yesterday  a  success  ? " 

"  That  depends  upon  how  you  would  define  a  visit  as  a  suc- 
cess. I  found  Madame  Lescar  at  home,  and  it  gave  her  pleasure, 
I  am  sure,  to  see  me ;  but  the  visit  was  a  very  sad  one,  and  I  have 
not  shaken  off  the  impression  of  it  yet." 

"  Did  you  find  her  worse  in  health  than  you  expected  ? " 

"  Very  much  worse.  Two  of  the  best  physicians  in  Paris  are 
agreed  that  there  is  no  hope  of  her  life." 

"  How  very  sad !     I  have  never  seen  her,  but  I  am  sorry." 

"  Of  whom  are  you  talking  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Vance,  with  that 
instinctive  curiosity  which  the  majority  of  people  feel  with  regard 
to  any  one  concerning  whom  there  is  question  of  death. 

"  Of  a  woman  who  has  been  famous  in  more  ways  than  one 
during  her  life,"  replied  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  Did  you  not  hear  Mr. 
Stanhope  mention  Madame  Lescar?  ". 

"  I  did.     Who  is  Madame  Lescar  ?  " 

"  She  is,  properly  speaking,  the  Princess  Waldegrave." 

"  Oh !  " — the  netting  dropped  from  Mrs.  Vance's  hands. 
"You  mean  her!— the  unfortunate  lady  whom  that  German 
treated  so  infamously  ?  " 

"  The  same,"  replied  Stanhope.    "  You  remember  her,  then  ?  " 

"  I  remember  her  unhappy  story — who  could  forget  that  ? 
But  I  never  saw  her,  except  once  when  she  was  singing  in  Amer- 
ica. What  a  beautiful  woman  she  was,  and  what  a  divine  voice 
she  had!" 

"  Divine,  indeed !  "  said  Stanhope.  "  No  wonder  that,  with 
such  a  voice,  and  her  beauty,  and  the  knowledge  of  her  wrongs, 
people  went  wild  over  her.  Yet  this  public  life,  which  would 
have  been  so  great  a  triumph  to  almost  any  other  woman,  was  a 
penance  equal  to  walking  over  burning  plowshares  to  her.  There 


22  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

are  some  natures  that  shrink  from  publicity  as  from  absolute  suf- 
fering. Of  just  such  fiber  is  this  woman  made.  '  Nothing  nerved 
me  to  endure  it  but  the  thought  of  my  child,'  she  said  to  me  more 
than  once." 

"  But,  if  she  disliked  publicity  so  much,  why  did  she  become 
a  singer  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Vance. 

"  I  thought  every  one  knew  the  reason,"  answered  Stanhope. 
"  You  remember  her  history,  no  doubt — that  she  was  the  beauti- 
ful only  daughter  of  one  of  the  most  eminent  statesmen  and  wealth- 
iest gentlemen  of  the  old  regime  of  the  South.  A  princess  could 
not  have  been  more  shielded  from  every  breath  of  harsh  fortune 
than  was  she  who  was  to  pass  through  such  cruel  suffering  in 
after-life.  She  made  her  debut  in  Washington  with  brilliant  suc- 
cess ;  and,  after  reigning  as  a  belle  for  a  few  years,  finally  married 
one  of  the  most  ardent  of  her  suitors — Count  Waldegrave,  who 
was  then  in  Washington,  attached  to  the  embassy  of  his  country. 
You  know  the  sequel.  Ability,  ambition,  and  the  favor  of  his 
sovereign,  soon  marked  out  an  exalted  career  for  the  man  who 
proved  himself  one  of  the  first  diplomatists  in  Europe.  Bat  it  be- 
came apparent,  and  was  signified  royally,  it  is  said,  that  his  mar- 
riage was  a  mistake.  He  had  but  a  small  fortune,  and  he  needed 
wealth.  Miss  Lescar  had  been  a  great  heiress  when  he  married 
her,  but  the  war  in  America,  which  followed  quickly  on  her  mar- 
riage, ruined  her  father  utterly.  Apart  from  the  loss  of  her  fort- 
une, Count  Wuldegrave  found  the  religion  of  his  wife  a  draw- 
back to  his  public  career.  Eer  mother  had  belonged  to  one  of  the 
old  French  families  of  Louisiana,  and  the  daughter,  like  herself, 
was  a  Catholic.  The  result  was  easily  to  be  foreseen  in  a  coun- 
try where  divorce  is  easy  and  all  things  possible  to  power.  Count 
Waldegrave  experienced  no  difficulty  in  having  his  marriage  an- 
nulled on  some  pretext  of  informality.  Certainly  a  more  help- 
less creature  than  his  wife  could  not  readily  have  been  dis- 
covered. She  was  in  a  foreign  land,  without  friends  or  fortune. 
Her  father  had  died  at  the  end  of  the  war — happily  before  he 
knew  this  last  blow  of  Fate— and  left  an  estate  which  was  a  wreck. 
Of  course  the  man  who  sacrificed  her  to  his  ambition  had  grace 
enough  to  desire  to  secure  to  her  a  provision  for  life.  This  she 
refused.  '  Tell  him,'  she  said,  '  that  there  is  no  one  in  the  world 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  23 

from  whom  I  would  not  sooner  take  the  means  to  live.'  But  the 
decision  left  her  almost  penniless.  Of  all  the  bounteous  gifts  of 
Fortune,  but  one  remained  to  her — the  beautiful  voice  -which  it 
had  been  her  father's  delight  to  have  carefully  and  highly  trained. 
With  this  she  determined  to  win  from  the  world  enough  for  her 
own  needs  and  her  daughter's  education.  She  went  to  America 
and  became  a  singer.  You  remember  the  furore  she  created,  but 
you  do  not  know  how  entirely  she  succeeded  in  her  object.  When 
she  quitted  America,  she  left  thirty  thousand  dollars  invested 
there,  on  the  interest  of  which  she  has  lived." 

"  Ah,  what  a  woman !  "  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  What  a  flower 
to  have  been  crushed  in  the  iron  gauntlet  of  such  a  man !  " 

"  Thank  you  for  telling  me  the  story,  Mr.  Stanhope,"  said  Mrs. 
Vance.  "  I  remembered  it ;  but  vaguely,  as  one  remembers  what 
one  has  heard  in  fragments." 

"  You  know  I  am  raconteur  by  profession,"  said  Stanhope, 
smiling  at  the  recollection  of  the  story  which  he  told  to  Madame 
Lescar  the  day  before.  It  seemed  an  odd  chance  which  had  made 
him  to  each  of  these  women  the  historian  of  the  other. 

A  few  minutes  later  a  servant  drew  back  a  portiere  and  an- 
nounced breakfast. 

"Surely  this  is  the  poetry  of  civilization,"  said  Stanhope 
when  they  had  seated  themselves  around  a  table,  sparkling  with 
engraved  glass  and  delicate  painted  china,  in  a  room  which 
charmed  the  eye  by  the  harmonious  beauty  of  all  its  appoint- 
ments. "There  is  nothing  that  so  marks  our  place  in  the  scale 
of  civilized  beings  as  the  degree  of  artistic  refinement  with  whcih 
we  surround  the  really  humiliating  fact  that  we  must  eat  in  order 
to  live." 

"Do  you  think  it  an  humiliating  fact?  "  asked  Mrs.  Falconer. 
"  We  are  made  of  body  as  well  as  spirit,  and  why  should  it  hu- 
miliate us  to  be  reminded  of  the  truth  ?  " 

"  Because  we  are  so  fettered  by  the  necessities  of  this  body, 
and  because  it  vexes  the  spirit  to  feel  that  even  its  eubtile  emo- 
tions are  in  great  measure  dependent  on  the  quantity  and  quality 
of  food  which  la  ~bete,  as  De  Maistre  called  it,  is  bound  to  con- 
sume." 

"  I  think  it  a  very  arrogant  spirit,  then,  and  properly  pun- 


21  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

ished.  Come,  don't  be  so  spirituel,  but  tell  Gustavo  what  wine 
you  prefer  at  dejeuner" 

The  breakfast  which  followed  was  very  pleasant,  the  conver- 
sation gay,  sparkling,  and  cordial,  for  no  one  put  Stanhope  more 
at  his  best  than  this  pretty  and  clever  woman — they  were  so 
thoroughly  sympathetic  in  tastes  and  opinions.  To  him,  as  to 
most  men,  a  woman  of  masculine  intellect  was  distasteful;  but 
there  was  an  altogether  feminine  quality  in  Mrs.  Falconer's  esprit, 
which  responded  charmingly  to  his  own.  He  had  led  her  along 
many  ways  of  culture  which  were  his  delight,  and  he  felt,  with 
regard  to  her,  something  of  the  pride  of  a  discoverer,  mingled 
with  the  admiration  of  a  man  for  a  lovely  woman,  and  the  fond- 
ness of  a  master  for  a  clever  pupil. 

"  And  you  enjoyed  your  visit  to  London?  "  he  asked,  presently. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  "  I  always  enjoy  London — for  a  time,  and 
that  time  the  height  of  the  season.  Afterward,  I  like  a  month  or 
so  of  English  country  life,  and  then  I  want  to  wing  my  flight  to 
the  Continent." 

"  I  think  yon  were  rather  reluctant  to  wing  your  flight  this 
year,"  observed  Mrs.  Vance. 

"Perhaps  I  was  a  little  reluctant,"  she  said,  with  a  smile  that 
seemed  inspired  by  pleasant  recollections.  "  I  went  to  Scotland 
with  the  Falconers — Sir  George  has  a  shooting-box  there — and  I 
found  it  very  agreeable.  The  place  is  picturesque,  and  Lady  Fal- 
coner has  excellent  discrimination  in  the  selection  of  guests. 
A  propos,  Mr.  Stanhope,  do  you  know  that  your  friend  the  Mar- 
quis de  Chateaumesnil  is  her  cousin  ?  " 

"Yes,"  Stanhope  replied ;  "his  mother  was  English,  and  in 
tastes  and  training  he  is  half  an  Englishman.  He  was  going  to 
London  when  we  parted — you  met  him  there,  of  course  ?  " 

"  Frequently — and  he,  too,  went  to  Scotland  with  the  Fal- 
coners." 

"  And  have  you  learned  to  like  him?  " 

"I  do  not  know,"  she  answered,  slowly.  "  I  can  understand 
all  his  fascination,  for  he  is  handsome,  accomplished,  and  intellect- 
ual in  no  ordinary  degree ;  but  he  belongs  to  a  class  that  I  know 
well  in  all  their  soulless,  selfish  epicureanism.  And  I  am  past, 
long  past,  the  age  to  find  any  attraction  in  them." 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  25 

He  understood  what  gave  the  vibrating  thrill  to  her  voice, 
what  bitter  memory  was  recalled  in  her  words. 

"  I  think,"  he  said,  "  that  you  misjudge  the  marquis,  and  I  am 
sure  that  you  are  too  kind  and  too  reasonable  to  desire  to  mis- 
judge any  one.  He  has  been  guilty  of  many  follies,  but  you 
should  remember*that  he  was  born  into  '  a  world  out  of  joint,'  in- 
heritor of  a  political  creed  that  closed  to  him  every  field  for  high 
ambition.  And  he  is  ambitious,  with  powers  that  would  fit  him 
to  play  a  distinguished  part  in  the  world  under  happier  auspices." 

"  I  grant  you  that  is  a  hard  fate,"  answered  Mrs.  Falconer ; 
"  but  need  it  have  made  him  a  viveur  des  viveurs — believing  in 
nothing  save  the  necessity  for  good  manners,  loving  nothing  save 
the  pursuit  of  pleasure  ? " 

"  Is  that  how  you  have  read  him  ?  "  asked  Stanhope,  with  a 
smile.  "  I  gave  you  credit  for  more  discernment  of  character." 

"  I  never  gave  myself  credit  for  it,"  she  replied,  with  a  slightly 
heightened  color ;  "but  I  do  not  like  to  be  guilty  of  injustice. 
Tell  me,  then,  what  I  am  to  think  of  your  marquis.  I  know  what 
is  said  of  him  in  Paris  and  in  London — nothing  better,  some  things 
a  good  deal  worse,  than  what  I  have  expressed ;  but  tell  me  what 
you  know." 

"E"o,"  Stanhope  answered.  "You  must  judge  him  for  your- 
self. /  know  him  as  it  is  only  possible  to  know  a  man  with  whom 
one  has  been  associated  in  prolonged  travel,  with  whom  one  has 
endured  discomfort,  hardship,  even  danger,  and  whom  one  has 
found  to  be  brave,  unselfish,  and  cheerful,  through  it  all." 

"  That  is  high  praise,"  she  said. 

"  And  deserved— yet  it  does  not  prevent  many  things  that  you 
have  heard  of  him  from  being  true." 

"  He  is  one  of  the  Legitimists  who  will  accept  nothing  but 
Henri  Cinq  and  the  fleur-de-lis,  is  he  not?"  asked  Mrs.  Vance. 

"He  is  a  Legitimist — cela  vet  sans  dire"  answered  Stanhope; 
"  but,  if  it  were  possible  for  him  to  serve  France,  I  am  sure  that 
he  would  do  so,  even  though  Henri  Cinq  did  not  sit  on  the  throne. 
But  it  is  not  possible  in  the  radical  republic  that  represents 
France  to-day,  where  anarchy  and  revolution  are  rapidly  advanc- 
ing toward  some  denoument  more  terrible,  perhaps,  than  any  the 
world  has  yet  seen." 


26  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"Good  Heavens,  Mr.  Stanhope  I"  said  Mrs.  Vance.  "You 
make  me  feel  like  running  away !  " 

"  So  do  not  I,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  as  she  rose  from  the  tahle. 
"I  would  stay  if  the  ground  sounded  hollow  beneath  my  feet.  I 
like  to  see  history  made — to  hear  the  stylus  trace  the  leaf." 

When  they  went  back  to  the  boudoir,  Mrs'.  Vance  consider- 
ately retired,  leaving  the  two  friends  alone  together,  and  then 
Stanhope  found  his  opportunity  to  say  : 

"  I  have  not  felt  at  liberty  to  speak  before  of  a  matter  on 
which  I  wish  to  consult  you.  What  will  you  think  when  I  tell 
you  that  I  have  bound  myself  to  play  the  part  of  guardian — after 
a  fashion,  at  least — to  Madame  Lescar's  daughter  ?  " 

"  I  think  that  you  are  a  very  amiable  man,"  replied  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner, "  for  I  fear  that  it  will  entail  a  great  deal  of  trouble  on  you. 
What  are  you  to  do  with  a  girl  of — seventeen,  did  you  not  say?  " 

"  The  fact  that  she  is  a  girl  of  seventeen  is  not  the  worst  of 
the  matter.  Listen  to  the  description  of  her  character  which  her 
mother  gives,"  and  he  repeated  in  substance  what  Madame  Lescar 
had  said. 

"It  is  easy  to  realize  that  she  may  be  all  that,"  said  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner, when  he  had  finished.  "The  very  force  which  she  has 
inherited  from  her  father  is  arrayed  against  him.  I  begin  to  be 
more  interested  in  the  daughter  than  in  the  mother,"  she  added, 
with  a  smile. 

"That  is  what  I  desire,"  he  said.  "I  want  you  to  be  inter- 
ested in  her.  I  want  you  to  suggest,  if  you  can,  what  is  to  be 
done  with  her.  To  send  her  to  America  is  out  of  the  question — 
yet,  how  and  where  in  Europe  is  she  to  find  a  home?  " 

"  Has  Madame  Lescar  no  friend — no  woman  friend — who 
would  take  charge  of  her?" 

"I  do  not  think  that  she  has  ;  indeed,  I  am  sure  that  she  has 
not.  She  hopes  for  a  suggestion  of  some  plan  from  me ;  and  I 
feel  absolutely  incapable  of  making  any." 

"This  comes  of  playing  Don  Quixote,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer, 
with  a  gentle  laugh.  "  But  I  am  really  sorry  for  you — and  sorry, 
too,  for  this  poor  lady,  who  sees  death  so  near,  and  her  daughter's 
future  so  uncertain.  I  must  consider  the  matter,  and  try  to  help 
you.  What  is  the  good  of  having  friends  if  they  do  not  help  one 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  27 

in  one's  difficulties  ?  But  I  should  like,  if  possible,  to  see  Miss  Les- 
car,  in  order  to  judge  what  would  be  best  for  her." 

"  That  is  easily  accomplished.  Madame  Lescar  desired  me  to 
say  that  she  would  be  happy  to  know  you." 

"  Did  she  ?  The  matter  is  simple,  then.  I  will  go  to  see  her. 
Can  you  accompany  me  ?  You  know  /  could  hardly  ask  for  the 
daughter,  while  it  will  be  easy  for  you  to  do  so — you,  who  are  an 
oil  friend  and  future  guardian." 

"  I  shall  be  delighted  to  accompany  you,"  said  Stanhope,  and 
the  trite  words  had  true  meaning,  for  he  really  was  delighted  to 
find  so  valuable  an  ally. 

Mrs.  Falconer  promptly  rang  the  bell,  and  ordered  her  carriage. 

"  There  is  nothing  like  doing  a  thing  without  delay,  when  it 
is  to  be  done  at  all,"  she  said.  "  We  will  go  at  once." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

WHEN  the  two  friends  entered  together  the  court  which  Stan- 
hope had  entered  alone  the  day  before,  Mrs.  Falconer  said : 

"  Will  you  believe  that  I  feel  a  little  trepidation?  Those  words 
which  you  uttered  yesterday  recur  to  me,  '  There  is  no  royalty 
like  that  of  misfortune.'  I  feel  that  I  am  about  to  see  one  who 
might  say  with  Constance,  '  Here  I  and  Sorrow  sit.'  " 

"  She  might  say  it,"  replied  Stanhope,  "  but  she  does  not,  and 
therein  lies  a  great  difference.  She  does  not  pose  in  the  least. 
I  have  always  been  particularly  charmed  by  her  simplicity  and 
serenity.  She  is  one  to  whom  a  great  wrong  has  been  done; 
but  it  has  not  sullied  her  with  passion  any  more  than  with 
shame." 

"  How  you  warm  into  enthusiasm,  when  you  speak  of  her!" 
said  Mrs.  Falconer,  with  a  smile.  "  I  wonder  if  I  shall  admire 
her  as  much  as  you  do  ?  " 

"  Hardly  as  much,  because  you  will  not  know  her  as  well;  but 
you  can  not  fail  to  admire  her  in  exactly  the  degree  in  which  you 
know  hei'." 

They  paused  on  the  second  etage  as  he  spoke,  and  lie  pulled 
the  bell  of  the  door  before  them.  It  was  answered  by  the  maid, 


28  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

who,  in  reply  to  his  inquiry  for  Madame  Lescar,  replied  that 
madame  was  much  better  to-day,  and  would,  no  doubt,  be  charmed, 
to  see  monsieur — and  madame.  Receiving  their  cards,  she  then 
opened  the  drawing-room  door,  and,  after  their  entrance,  closed 
it  on  them. 

There  was  no  long  delay  on  the  part  of  Madame  Lescar.  A 
moment  later,  the  same  portiere  which  had  been  drawn  back  the 
day  before  was  again  lifted,  and  she  entered  the  room.  To  Stan- 
hope, who  was  familiar  with  her  graceful  presence,  it  brought  no 
new  revelation ;  but  the  words  "  a  beautiful  woman  "  leave  a 
wide  margin  to  the  imagination ;  and  Mrs.  Falconer's  had  by  no 
means  prepared  her  for  what  she  was  to  see.  She  had  expected 
a  wreck  of  past  loveliness — one  of  those  worn  and  faded  coun- 
tenances upon  which  pain  and  suffering  had  left  their  heavy  foot- 
prints, amid  what  are  called  "  signs  of  beauty  " — and  what  she 
saw  was  a  face  which  impressed  her  instantly  with  the  feeling 
that  it  should  not  be  left  to  die,  but  should  be  set  on  canvas  in 
immortal  tints  to  charm  succeeding  generations  with  its  fairness, 
with  the  spell  of  its  sweetness  and  its  sadness. 

"  You  see  that  I  have  not  come  alone  to-day,  madame,"  said 
Stanhope,  coming  forward  to  meet  her.  "  I  have  brought — or,  to 
speak  more  correctly,  I  am  brought  by — Mrs.  Falconer,  who  is 
anxious  to  know  you." 

"  I  am  very  happy  to  make  Mrs.  Falconer's  acquaintance,"  an- 
swered Madame  Lescar,  with  a  smile.  "  The  name  which  your 
mother  bore  was  one  of  the  most  familiar  of  my  youth,"  she  went 
on,  addressing  that  lady,  "so  I  feel  that  I  am  welcoming  one  with 
all  the  claim  of  old  friendship." 

"  I  feel  the  claim  as  strongly  as  yourself,"  replied  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner, "for,  although  I  lost  my  mother  when  I  was  very  young,  I 
had  often  heard  her  speak  of  you  in  terms  of  warm  remembrance. 
I  thought  myself  fortunate,  then,  to  learn  from  Mr.  Stanhope  yes- 
terday that  you  were  in  Paris,  and  to-day  that  your  health  would 
allow  you  to  receive  a  visitor." 

"It  would  hardly  allow  me  to  receive  any  other,"  said  Madame 
Lescar.  "But  I  rested  well  last  night,"  she . continued,  looking 
at  Stanhope  with  a  glance  which  he  understood,  "  and  I  am  con- 
sequently stronger  this  morning  than  I  have  been  for  several  days." 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  29 

"  I  am  not  only  glad,  but  relieved  in  conscience  to  hear  it," 
he  replied,  "  for  I  was  haunted  by  the  recollection  of  your  face 
as  it  looked  when  I  went  away,  and  by  the  tone  of  Mademoiselle 
Irene's  voice,  which  I  heard  after  I  left  the  room,  and  which 
seemed  full  of  reproach  for  me." 

"For  me  more  likely,"  said  Madame  Lescar.  "  She  watches 
me  with  the  most  jealous  care,  and  scolds  me  for  every  impru- 
dence. 1  have  never  yet  had  courage  to  tell  her  the  truth,"  she 
added,  in  a  lower  tone. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause;  then  Stanhope  said,  with  a 
glance  at  his  ally : 

"  May  I  not  hope  to  see  her  ?  It  has  been  nearly  a  year  since 
I  saw  her  last,  and  no  doubt  she  has  changed  much  in  the  in- 
terval." 

"  Not  much,  but  somewhat,  perhaps,"  answered  Madame  Les- 
car, "  and  certainly  you  can  see  her." 

She  rang  a  bell  near  her  hand,  and  desired  the  servant  who 
appeared,  to  request  her  daughter  to  come  to  her. 

"  I,  too,  shall  be  glad  to  see  Mademoiselle  Lescar,"  said  Mrs. 
Falconer.  "  Mr.  Stanhope  tells  me  that  she  is  very  beautiful." 

"I  am  afraid  that  she  is,"  said  Madame  Lescar.  "Do  you 
wonder  that  I  should  say,  '  I  am  afraid '  ?  "  she  asked,  as  she  caught 
the  expression  on  the  other's  face.  "  I  say  so  because  a  woman 
with  any  exceptional  gift  of  mind  or  person  is  not  so  likely  to 
have  a  happy  lot  in  life  as  one  who  is  commonplace." 

"  No  doubt  you  are  right,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  It  is  cer- 
tainly true  that  commonplace  women  are  generally  happier  than 
their  more  beautiful  or  more  intellectual  sisters.  Yet,  if  the  choice 
were  given  me,  I  do  not  think  I  would  take  happiness  at  such  a 
price." 

"No  one  willingly  descends  from  a  height,"  said  Madame 
Lescar,  smiling.  "  Yet  happiness  does  not  invariably  fall  only  to 
the  commonplace.  I  hope  that  you  may  find  it,"  she  added, 
kindly. 

"  I  do  not  look  for  it,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  I  shall  be  satis- 
fied if  I  escape  unhappiness.  I  am  like  one  who  has  been  ship- 
wrecked. I  do  not  care  to  sail  over  the  sea  in  search  of  Treasure 
Islands — the  risk  is  too  great.  I  would  rather  remain  quietly  and 


30  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

contentedly  on  the  shore,  where  nothing  wonderful  is  likely  to 
happen,  but  where  one  has  all  the  minor  pleasures  of  life,  and  the 
sweet  recurrence  of  peaceful  days  and  nights." 

"You  are  a  wise  philosopher,"  said  Madame  Lescar.  "And 
is  this  bright  Paris  the  shore  where  you  have  elected  to  remain 
so  contentedly  ? " 

"For  the  present,"  answered  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  Paris  suits  mo 
— that  is,  I  find  more  advantages  here  than  anywhere  else;  and  I 
am  singularly  free  from  ties  to  bind  me  to  one  place  more  than 
another.  Yet  it  is  not  for  what  is  most  distinctively  French  that  I 
like  it,  but  because  it  is,  in  many  respects,  what  it  boasts  of  being, 
the  capital  of  civilization ;  and  hence  one  may  find  here  a  truly 
cosmopolitan  society." 

"If  France  had  but  wisdom — if  she  did  not  seem  doomed  by 
the  madness  of  her  folly  never  again  to  know  the  blessing  of  a 
stable  government — Paris  might  indeed  become,  in  a  wider  sense 
than  ever  before,  the  capital  of  civilization,"  said  Stanhope.  "  But 
one  can  not  build  a  capital  on  a  volcano." 

"  That  is  so  true,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  "that  I  often  find  myself 
looking  with  wonder  at  the  Parisians  going  their  different  ways  of 
business  and  pleasure,  as  if  such  terrible  subterranean  fires  were 
not  smoldering  beneath  their  feet ;  as  if  Montmartre,  like  a  more 
deadly  Vesuvius,  did  not  hang  over  the  city  in  continual  menace." 

"  They  are  accustomed  to  it,"  said  Stanhope.  "  It  has  always 
been  a  turbulent  city,  and  the  people  have  through  centuries  ac- 
qiiired  their  characteristic  light-heartedness  and  carpe-diem  phi- 
losophy." 

"  I  am  often  reminded — "  began  Mrs.  Falconer,  but  paused 
abruptly  in  her  speech,  for  at  this  moment  the  porti&re  was  again 
drawn  aside,  and  a  young  girl  entered. 

A  tall,  graceful  girl,  slight  with  the  slightness  of  extreme  youth, 
but  with  remarkable  dignity  and  stateliness  of  carriage.  She  was 
very  simply  dressed,  but  her  high  collar  could  not  conceal  the 
round,  white  fullness  of  her  throat — the  singer's  throat — which 
bore  her  head  with  an  air  of  unconscious  pride.  The  sensitive, 
finely-drawn  face,  with  long,  straight  nose  and  thin,  delicate  nos- 
tril, was  the  type  of  face  to  express  both  fire  and  feeling  in  extreme 
degree.  There  was  much  likeliness  to  Madame  Lescar,  with 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  31 

much  difference — less  sweetness  and  more  resolution  in  the  curve 
of  the  lips,  greater  intellectual  force  on  the  broad,  calm  brow. 
Her  complexion  was  fair  and  pale — a  clear  paleness,  like  that  of 
alabaster.  But  the  crowning  beauty,  and  also  the  crowning  mys- 
tery of  the  face,  lay  in  the  eyes,  which  were  deep  yet  transparent, 
of  that  rare,  limpid  gray  which  has  not  a  tint  either  of  blue  or 
hazel,  fringed  by  dark  lashes,  and  surmounted  by  dark,  straight 
brows.  Her  hair,  also  dark,  was  of  silken  abundance,  and,  being 
simply  braided  and  coiled,  showed  to  the  best  advantage  the 
classic  shape  of  her  head. 

" Ma  cJierie"  said  Madame  Lescar,  as  she  entered  with  the 
gliding  step,  the  gentle  composed  manner  of 'a  girl  trained  in  for- 
eign ideas  of  decorum,  "come  and  let  me  present  you  to  a  lady 
who  has  been  kind  enough  to  remember  that  friendship  should 
be  hereditary,  even  in  a  strange  land." 

"  Though  I  am  much  your  senior,  mademoiselle,  we  belong  to 
the  same  generation,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  taking  the  girl's  hand, 
"  and,  as  your  mother  has  said,  friendship  should  be  hereditary." 

Irene  gave  one  straight,  steady  look  into  the  face  of  the  speaker 
before  answering;  then  she  said,  simply: 

"  My  mother's  friends  are  mine,  and  I  am  glad  to  know  them." 

"Do  not  forget,  then,"  said  her  mother,  "that  here  is  one  of 
our  oldest  and  best — Mr.  Stanhope." 

"  "Were  you  waiting  for  me  to  cry  peccavi  for  yesterday's  trans- 
gressions, mademoiselle,  before  you  would  recognise  me?"  asked 
Stanhope,  as  she  turned  toward  him. 

"How  did  you  know  that  I  was  angry  with  you  yesterday?" 
she  asked.  "  I  was — very  angry — because  you  staid  so  long  ! 
But  mamma  is  so  much  better  to-day  that  you  are  forgiven." 

"  I  am  properly  grateful,"  he  said,  amused  by  the  tone  in  which 
this  forgiveness  was  accorded.  "  My  own  conscience  reproached 
me  for  the  length  of  my  visit ;  but  it  had  been  so  long  since  I  saw 
your  mother  last  that  we  had  much  to  talk  of." 

"But  why  had  it  been  so  long?  "Why  have  you  not  been  to 
see  us  during  the  whole  past  year?" 

"Are  you  not  aware  that  other  things  besides  inclination  fre- 
quently determine  our  journeyings  ?  "  replied  Stanhope — who  had 
really  no  better  reason  to  give  than  that  a  duty  is  apt  to  seem  less 


32  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

insistent  when  viewed  through  the  medium  of  time  and  dis- 
tance. 

"  I  thought  that  you  had  nothing  to  consult  hut  your  inclina- 
tion," she  said,  with  a  look  of  surprise.  "  But  pardon  me,"  she 
added,  quickly,  "I  know  that  we  have  no  real  claim  upon  you; 
and,  if  I  quarrel  with  you  for  not  coming,  it  is  only  because  your 
visits  always  gave  mamma  so  much  pleasure." 

"Do  not  misunderstand  me,"  he  answered.  ''There  can  he 
no  more  real  claim  than  such  friendship  as  I  entertain  for  your 
mother :  but  it  is  possible  to  make  for  one's  self  plans  which  have 
almost  the  force  of  duties.  My  winter  was  spent  in  Asia  Minor, 
my  summer  in  Norway.  Yet  I  feel  a  regret  that  needs  no  inten- 
sifying that  I  did  not,  at  any  cost  of  convenience  to  myself,  see 
Madame  Lescar  between  the  two  journeys.  I  meant  to  do  so,  but 
— what  are  we  told? — that  'procrastination  is  the  thief  of  time,' 
that  'hell  is  paved  with  good  intentions,'  and  many  like  proverbs, 
true  as  if  Solomon  had  uttered  them." 

"Who  accuses  himself  should  be  excused,"  she  said,  with  a 
softening  of  voice  and  glance.  "  Mamma  would  be  vexed  if  she 
knew  that  I  was  making  you  either  accuse  or  excuse  yourself. 
She  takes  everything  gratefully,  and  demands  nothing.  I  shall 
never  be  like  her  in  that !  You  see  that  I  demand  at  once." 

"  I  see  that  one  thing  which  I  have  gained  by  my  inexcusable 
absence  is  the  ability  to  perceive  with  what  a  bound  you  have 
passed  from  girlhood — nay,  from  childhood,  for  what  were  you 
but  a  child,  last  year? — into  womanhood." 

The  swiftest  possible  change  came  over  her  face  at  his  words 
— a  change  that  made  him  realize  the  singular  mobility  of  her 
countenance.  It  might  have  been  another  face  altogether — a  face 
both  proud  and  sad — that  looked  at  him  as  she  answered: 

"  Yes,  I  was  a  child  last  year — but  that  is  over.  In  a  day, 
childhood  closed  for  ever  behind  me.  But  I  can  not  talk  of  this! 
Tell  me  what  you  think  of  mamma.  Do  you  find  her  very  much 
altered  ?  Do  you  think  her  very  ill  ?  " 

Fortunately  for  Stanhope,  he  was  spared  an  answer  to  these 
questions.  Before  he  could  reply,  Mrs.  Falconer  turned  from 
Madame  Lescar,  with  whom  she  had  been  talking. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  she  said,  "  your  mother  thinks  that  you  might 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  33 

like  a  drive  in  the  Bois  this  lovely  afternoon.  My  carriage  is  at 
the  door.  Will  you  come  with  me? " 

"  You  are  very  kind,  madaine,"  answered  Ir£ne,  with  evident 
reluctance;  "but  I  do  not  think  it  is  possible  for  me  to  go — to 
leave  my  mother — " 

"  Go,  mon  enfant,"  said  Madame  Lescar.  "  There  is  no  reason 
why  you  should  not  leave  me  for  so  short  a  time.  Mrs.  Falconer 
kindly  offered  to  take  me,  but  I  do  not  feel  equal  to  the  exertion. 
You  must  go  and  enjoy  the  pleasure  for  us  both." 

The  girl  was  too  well-bred  to  make  any  further  demur. 
"  Since  you  are  so  good  I  Avill  prepare  myself,"  she  said,  and, 
rising,  left  the  room. 

In  a  few  minutes  she  reappeared,  dressed  with  that  perfection 
of  quiet  simplicity  which  French  taste  ordains  for  a,jeunefille,  and 
at  her  entrance  Mrs.  Falconer  rose. 

"If  you  will  allow  me,  I  shall  see  you  soon  again,"  she  said  to 
Madame  Lescar,  "and  another  day  I  hope -that  I  maybe  more 
fortunate  in  inducing  you  to  accompany  me.  A  half-hour's  drive 
in  the  quiet  parts  of  the  Bois  would  surely  not  injure  you  ? " 

"  Another  day,  then,  I  may  go,"  she  replied.  "  Meanwhile, 
thank  you  for  taking  Irene.  The  poor  child  has  few  recreations, 
and  only  goes  out  for  her  walks  with  Nathalie." 

There  were  a  few  more  words — pleasant  and  cordial  on  both 
sides — and  then  Mrs.  Falconer  turned  to  Stanhope.  "  Are  you 
coming  with  us  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  putting  you  into  the  carriage,"  he 
replied.  "I  see  that  I  must  bid  madame  adieu — for  Mademoiselle 
Irene  is  watching  me  with  jealous  eyes." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  if  you  stay  you  will  make  mamma  talk  too 
much,"  said  Irene. 

Madame  Lescar  smiled,  but  did  not  bid  him  stay.  She  only 
detained  him  for  an  instant  to  whisper : 

"  I  like  her  very  much.  Ah !  if  Irene  may  but  win  such  a 
friend." 

"It  is  what  I  hope,"  he  answered. 


34:  HEART  OF  STEEL. 


CHAPTER  V. 

"  So  we  can  not  tempt  you,  Mr.  Stanhope,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer, 
when,  after  having  put  them  into  the  carriage,  he  closed  the  door. 

"  You  tempt  me,"  he  answered,  smiling,  "  hut  I  must  not  yield 
to  the  temptation.  I  have  an  engagement  for  this  afternoon ;  and, 
even  if  I  had  not,  I  could  hardly  bring  myself  to  disturb  what 
ought  to  be  a  purely  feminine  tete-d-tete." 

"Adieu,  then,"  she  said,  understanding  him.  "Remember 
that  to-morrow  evening  I  am  at  home." 

As  the  carriage  drove  off,  Mrs.  Falconer  smiled  a  little  to  herself 
over  the  impulse  which  had  prompted  her  to  undertake  the  task 
of  drawing  out  the  girl  beside  her.  It  did  not  seem  quite  so  easy 
a  task  as  she  had  imagined  it  would  be,  when  she  glanced  at  the 
young  face  in  its  pale,  clear-cut  repose.  Woman  of  the  world  as 
she  was,  she  felt  a  hesitation  in  opening  the  conversation ;  and, 
when  she  spoke,  her  choice  of  a  subject  was  certainly  not  liable 
to  objection  on  the  score  of  originality. 

"  You  have  been  some  time  in  Paris,  mademoiselle  ? " 

"  Only  a  month  at  present,"  Irene  answered.  "  But  I  have 
been  here  often  before." 

"You  know  it  well,  then?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  that  any  one  could  know  it  less,"  the  girl 
replied,  "  unless  to  know  a  place  it  is  sufficient  to  be  acquainted 
with  the  appearance  of  a  few  of  its  streets.  Of  course,  I  have  seen 
few  people." 

"  Ah !  the  life  of  a  demoiselle  here  is  different  from  what 
it  is  in  America — that  land  of  social  liberty,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer. 
"I  confess  that  I  should  not  like  to  be  a  girl  in  France." 

"  It  seems  natural  if  one  has  never  known  anything  else," 
said  Irene.  "  I  was  too  young  when  I  was  in  America  to  know 
much  of  its  customs,  and  I  have  not  seen  many  Americans.  In- 
deed, the  only  one  I  know  is  Mr.  Stanhope." 

"  You  have  seen  a  great  deal  of  him.  have  yon  not  ?  " 

"  Mamma  has  known  him  for  a  long  time.  He  has  been  very 
kind  to  her,  and  she  likes  him  exceedingly." 

"Everybody  likes  Mr.  Stanhope,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.     "He 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  35 

is  rather  a  remarkable  man  in  impressing  his  friends  with  a  sense 
of  his  sympathy  and  trustworthiness.  And  then,  he  is  extremely 
clever/' 

"He  must  be  clever,"  said  Irene.  "His  books  show  how 
keenly  he  looks  at  life  and  character." 

"  So  keenly  that  most  people  are  afraid  of  him,"  said  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner. "  I  am  a  little  afraid  of  him  myself,"  she  added,  smiling. 

"  Afraid  of  him — you !  "  said  Irene,  with  surprise.  Then  she, 
too,  smiled.  "I  suppose  you  are  jesting.  I  can  not  imagine  that 
you  are  really  afraid  of  any  one." 

"  In  a  literal  sense,  perhaps  not,"  answered  Mrs.  Falconer. 
"But  can  you  not  understand  such  a  feeling  for  one  whose 
opinions  are  worth  more  than  your  own,  whose  tastes  are  fastidi- 
ous, and  whose  standard  of  culture  is  high  ?  " 

The  girl  shook  her  head.  "I  can  not  understand  being  afraid 
of  even  the  cleverest  man  in  the  world,"  she  said. 

"Yon  have  not  much  veneration,  I  fancy,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer. 

"No  one  could  feel  the  spell  of  genius  more  than  I  do,"  Ir6ne 
answered  ;  "  but  I  can  not  efface  myself  before  it.  I  have  my 
individuality,  just  as  Dante  had  his." 

Mrs.  Falconer  looked  at  the  proud  young  face,  wondering  how 
far  this  was  the  voice  of  conscious  power. 

"  You  are  right,"  she  said  then.  "  But,  to  return  to  our  mut- 
ton, I  am  surprised  that  you  like  Mr.  Stanhope's  books.  "When 
one  is  very  young,  one  is  inclined  to  enjoy  romantic  pictures  of 
life  rather  than  delicate  studies  like  his." 

"  It  is  because  they  contain  so  little  romance  that  I  like  them," 
the  girl  replied.  "  I  want  to  know  life  as  it  is ;  not  life  as  one 
might  dream  or  fancy  it." 

"  You  will  know  life  as  it  is  soon  enough,  without  desiring  to 
anticipate  the  knowledge,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "It  is  a  pity 
when  youth  throws  away  too  early  its  dreams  and  fancies.  They 
are  like  the  mists  that  soften  this  landscape,"  she  added,  smiling, 
as  the  carriage  paused  at  the  end  of  the  lake.  "  I  always  stop 
here  for  the  view,"  she  went  on;  "there  is  something  delightful 
to  me  in  the  wide  expanse  of  this  scene — those  hills  and  woods 
and  shining  villages  beyond  the  Seine." 

"  Ah !  "  said  Irene.    "  This  must  be  the  view  that  always  strikes 


36  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

me  like  a  poem  as  I  come  through  the  Arc  de  Triomphe — a  high, 
distant  scene,  on  which  clouds  and  sunshine  lie  enchantingly." 

"  This  is  it — those  are  the  hills  of  Meudon  and  Suresnes,  and 
yonder  is  the  park  of  St.  Cloud.  Of  course  you  have  been  there  ? " 

"  Never.  I  thought  the  Prussians  destroyed  it — that  there  was 
nothing  left." 

"  They  burned  the  chateau,  but  the  park  is  uninjured,  and  the 
garden  also.  Do  you  like  such  places  ?  " 

"  Like  them ! " — the  expressive  face  lit  up  as  by  a  flash.  "  I  like 
nothing  so  much  as  places  where  the  great  drama  of  history  has 
been  played — where  those  who  are  mere  names  to  us  now  have 
walked  and  talked,  bowed,  smiled  and  intrigued  1  " 

"Then  would  you  care  to  go  to  St.  Cloud?  "We  have  time 
enough  to  do  so  this  afternoon." 

"  I  would  like  nothing  better.  Only " — the  face  changed 
again — "  I  am  afraid  I  should  be  too  long  absent  from  mamma." 

"  I  do  not  imagine  that  your  mother  needs  you,"  said  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner, "and  I  am  sure  that  she  would  like  you  to  go.  We  shall 
not  be  long. — St.  Cloud,  Henri." 

So  they  rolled  away  through  the  park,  out  on  the  great  high- 
way, past  the  famous  course  of  Longchamps,  by  the  side  of  the 
Seine,  with  the  sky  and  the  clouds  and  the  village-crowned  hills 
of  the  opposite  bank  reflected  in  its  clear  water,  past  boats  filled 
with  people,  past  pleasant  villas  and  country-houses,  until  they 
crossed  a  bridge  and  the  high-stepping  horses  carried  them  up 
the  steep,  stony  hill  of  St.  Cloud  to  the  front  of  the  chateau. 

"  I  am  superstitious  enough  to  believe,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer, 
after  they  had  alighted,  as  they  stood  in  the  court-yard  looking  at 
the  empty  shell  of  the  once  stately  palace,  "that  the  day  of  the 
Bonapartes  is  finally  over.  The  Tuileries  and  St.  Cloud  were  pe- 
culiarly associated  with  them — were  the  two  spots  between  which 
the  courts  of  both  emperors  vibrated — and  behold  them !  Does  it 
not  look  like  the  handwriting  on  the  wall? " 

"  But  there  were  other  places  associated  with  them,"  said 
Irene — "  Fontainebleau,  for  instance." 

"  Not  so  much  with  their  splendor,  with  the  arrogance  of  their 
power.  Remember,  it  was  at  St.  Cloud  that  the  coup  d'etat  of 
the  18th  Brumaire  was  effected !  However,  who  can  prophesy 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  37 

the  future  of  France  ?  This  way — we  will  go  round,  and  enter 
the  garden." 

They  entered  the  lovely  old  pleasure-ground — the  sunshine 
streaming  over  its  turf,  its  statues  gleaming,  its  waters  as  tranquil 
as  when  Henrietta  of  England  trod  its  paths,  as  when  Marie  An- 
toinette saw  her  fair  face  reflected  in  those  still  depths.  Talking 
of  the  scenes  that  had  been  enacted  here,  of  the  people  that  had 
passed  into  shadows,  they  walked  about  the  wide  parterre,  looked 
into  the  beautiful  park  that  tempted  to  wanderings  for  which  they 
had  not  time,  and  listened  to  the  sound  of  a  bugle  that  seemed  to 
come  like  an  enchanted  echo  from  the  far  depths  of  its  woodland 
recesses. 

"  It  may  be  some  ghostly  company  of  the  soldiers  of  Henry  of 
Valois,"  said  Irene,  smiling.  "Should  you  not  like  to  meet  one 
of  them,  and  hear  what  he  had  to  say  of  turbulent  Paris  ?  " 

"  I  fancy  it  would  not  differ  very  much  from  what  might  be 
said  to-day,"  replied  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  But  you  must  have  met 
some  one  of  the  kind,  or  else  you  have  a  wonderful  imagination 
in  dealing  with  the  past." 

"I  am  only  very  fond  of  history,  especially  French  history,"  the 
girl  replied.  "  It  is  like  a  marvelous  pageant,  full  of  the  most 
splendid  dramatic  effects.  What  nation  has  such  a  list  of  heroes 
— from  Vercingetorix  to  Bayard !  I  often  wonder  what  the  French 
of  the  present  day  are  made  of,  that  they  can  be  so  indifferent  to 
their  past,  when,  even  to  me,  a  stranger,  it  has  such  thrilling  in- 
terest." 

"  What  they  are  made  of?  "  repeated  Mrs.  Falconer.  "Mud, 
I  think — the  most  of  them — with  as  much  idea  of  the  glories  of 
the  past  as  the  tadpoles  from  which,  advanced  science  tells  them, 
they  have  sprung.  The  France  of  to-day  is  simply  an  ouvrier  in 
the  palace  of  kings.  But,  since  you  find  so  much  in  these  palaces, 
you  should  see  them  all.  Have  you  been  to  Versailles  and  Fon- 
tainebleau  ?  " 

"  I  went  once  with  mamma  to  Fontainebleaa,  but  I  have  never 
seen  Versailles." 

"  Then  you  must  do  so.  I  think  one  hardly  knows  what  a 
palace  is  until  one  has  seen  Versailles.  Should  you  not  like  to  go 
there  some  day  ?  " 

45 


38  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"  Yes,  I  should  like  it  exceedingly.  But  it  is  not  possible— I 
could  not  leave  mamma  for  so  long  a  time." 

"  You  could  surely  leave  her  for  a  day,  and  one  can  see  Ver- 
sailles in  a  day." 

"  I  should  not  like  to  leave  her  even  for  a  day,"  said  Irene, 
with  a  troubled  look.  "  You  do  not  understand  how  ill  she  is. 
I  fear,  sometimes,  that  I  do  not  altogether  understand  myself. 
She  has  had  several  alarming  attacks,  and  the  doctors  look  so 
grave !  I  am  afraid  to  go  out,  even  like  this  ;  I  do  not  know  how 
ill  she  might  become  while  I  am  away.  And,  without  her,  noth- 
ing has  power  to  give  me  pleasure.  She  is  the  sun  of  the  world 
tome!" 

There  was  a  pathetic  fervor  in  these  words  which  would  have 
touched  Mrs.  Falconer,  even  if  she  had  not  known  the  sorrowful 
truth— the  truth  which,  in  its  utmost  sorrow,  was  yet  veiled  from 
the  speaker.  For  a  moment  she  was  so  moved  with  compassion 
that  she  could  not  reply.  Then  she  said,  gently : 

"  I  would  press  nothing  that  is  painful  to  you,  but,  if  it  is  true 
that  your  mother  needs  your  care,  it  is  true,  also,  that  you  can  not 
maintain  your  health  without  exercise  and  recreation." 

"  I  go  to  walk  every  day." 

"  That  may  be  exercise,  but  it  is  certainly  not  recreation;  and 
you  need  the  latter  as  much  as  the  former.  Therefore,  pray,  do 
not  refuse  such  a  simple  pleasure  as  I  offer  yon  ;  do  not  deny  your 
mother  the  gratification  of  thinking  that,  for  a  little  time,  your 
mind  is  diverted  from  sadness  and  anxiety." 

"  It  can  never  be  that  while  she  grows  no  better,"  said  Ir&ne, 
sadly.  "  But  there  is  not  anything  I  would  not  do  to  gratify  her." 

"  Then  do  this,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  You  will  gratify  her, 
and  give  me  pleasure." 

The  young  face  turned  toward  her  with  a  wistful  look  on  it 
that  she  had  seen  once  before. 

"  You  must  not  think  that  I  am  ungrateful  for  your  kindness," 
the  girl  said,  "if  I  ask,  why  should  it  give  you  pleasure?  What 
am  I  to  you  ?  " 

"I  am  afraid,"  answered  the  lady,  smiling,  "that  you  do  not 
give  the  weight  you  ought  to  your  mother's  saying  that  friendship 
should  be  hereditary.  I  do  not  know  you  yet — though  I  think, 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  39 

frankly,  that  I  shall  like  you — hot  are  you  not  aware  that  your 
mother  has  always,  from  her  earliest  girlhood,  won  a  peculiar  trib- 
ute of  admiration  and  affection  from  all  who  knew,  and  even  from 
those  who  only  heard  of  her,  and  are  you  too  proud  to  accept 
kindness— if  you  choose  to  call  it  so — that  springs  from  regard 
for  her?" 

She  touched  a  chord  that  responded  at  once.  The  beautiful 
eyes  grew  luminous,  the  sensitive  lips  quivered  for  an  instant. 

"  I  would  rather  accept  kindness  that  springs  from  regard  for 
her  than  anything  whatever  that  was  given  to  me  personally," 
the  proud,  sweet  voice  answered.  "  If  I  have  pride,  it  is  for  her 
alone.  And  I  " — the  tones  trembled — "  I  can  not  tell  you  what  I 
feel  for  those  who,  even  in  her  misfortune,  see  and  know  her  for 
what  she  is." 

Mrs.  Falconer  laid  her  hand  with  a  gentle  touch  on  the  arm 
next  her. 

"  They  are  blind  and  very  contemptible  people  who  can  not 
look  below  the  mere  accidents  of  life,"  she  said.  "  And  although 
it  seems  trite  to  say  that  misfortune  is  a  test  to  determine  true 
gold  from  base  metal,  I  have  never  felt  so  sure  of  it  as  in  the  case 
of  Madame  Lescar.  So  now,"  she  went  on,  anxious  not  to  pursue 
a  painful  subject,  "you  must  consent  to  let  me  cultivate  your 
acquaintance  a  little." 

"You  are  very  kind— you  are  more  than  kind,"  said  the  girl, 
with  a  grateful  glance.  "I  will  do  whatever  you  like;  only,  pray 
do  not  ask  me  to  leave  mamma  too  much." 

"  Trust  me,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  I  will  ask  nothing  yon 
need  hesitate  to  grant.  But  we  must  have  that  day  at  Versailles, 
and  we  will  take  our  good  friend  Mr.  Stanhope  with  us.  Now 
come  this  way — let  us  see  the  view  from  the  terrace." 

They  mounted  a  flight  of  steps,  and,  following  a  long  alley 
with  close-clipped  hedges  on  both  sides,  emerged  finally  on  the 
broad  terrace  which  commands  a  magnificent  view  of  the  distant 
city.  Over  the  rich  valley,  where  the  Seine  winds  like  a  silver 
ribbon,  the  eye  passes  to  rest  on  the  immense  extent  of  the  great 
capital  of  modern  civilization.  On  this  afternoon  the  wide  ex- 
panse of  its  roofs,  the  multitude  of  towers  and  spires  and  monu- 
ments were  distinctly  revealed  in  the  clear  golden  air — a  sight 


40  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

that  made  Irene  hold  her  breath  as  she  gazed.  Never  before  had 
she  so  comprehensively  beheld  this  wonderful  Paris,  or  so  felt 
the  weight  of  all  its  thronging  aasociations.  Fresh  as  if  she  had 
yesterday  sprung,  like  Aphrodite,  from  the  foam,  how  far  back 
does  her  history  extend — this  town  of  Clovis,  of  Charlemagne,  of 
St.  Louis,  and  of  Henri  Quatre !  The  massive  towers  of  Notre 
Dame,  with  their  memories  of  seven  centuries,  uplifted  themselves 
from  the  island  where  the  wild  tribe  of  the  Parisii  first  made  their 
home ;  above  the  crowded  houses  of  the  Quartier  Latin  rose  the 
Mil  of  St.  Genevieve,  with  the  spire  of  St.  Etienne  du  Mont 
marking  the  shrine  of  the  shepherd-girl  who  once  saved  Paris ;  and, 
dominating  palaces  and  gardens  and  those  far-stretching  quarters 
whence  the  hordes  of  Revolution  and  of  Commune  pour  into  the 
world  of  glittering  boulevards  and  Elysian  Fields,  gleamed  the 
gilded  dome  of  the  Invalides  above  the  tomb  of  Europe's  second 
Attila,  while  from  end  to  end  the  great  city  seemed  to  flash  into 
a  magic  illumination  as  the  sun  sank  toward  the  fortified  crest  of 
Mont  Valerien. 

"It  was  this  scene  which  Metternich  saw  when  he  was  here 
after  "Waterloo,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  I  was  reading  the  passage 
in  his  '  Memoirs '  the  other  day.  '  Seeing,'  he  says,  '  the  immense 
city  still  brilliant  with  all  its  towers  and  spires  in  the  setting  sun, 
I  said  to  myself,  "  This  city  and  this  sun  will  still  greet  one  an- 
other when  there  are  no  longer  any  traditions  of  Napoleon  and 
Blucher,  and  least  of  all  myself."  '  No  doubt  it  will  be  true.  A 
thousand  years  hence  this  city  and  this  sun  will  still  greet  one 
another,  while  we —  Eh  Hen!  let  us  go  home!  It  is  growing 
late,  and  I  doubt  if  Metternich  found  the  reflection  cheerful." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

WHEN  Stanhope  entered  Mrs.  Falconer's  salon  the  next  even- 
ing, he  found  a  company  assembled  which  fully  justified  that  lady 
in  saying  that  she  liked  Paris  because  she  could  there  command 
a  cosmopolitan  society.  A  cosmopolitan  society  it  certainly  was, 
comprising  almost  as  many  nationalities  as  guests,  but  a  notable 
and  very  agreeable  society  also.  "Without  being  in  the  least  a  lion- 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  41 

hunter,  nor  tolerant  any  more  than  a  duchess  of  Bohemianism  in 
any  form,  she  had  a  passion  for  cleverness  and  a  peculiar  gift  in 
discerning  it.  "  I  care  nothing  for  merely  famous  people,"  she 
often  said.  "  Many  famous  people  are  very  tiresome.  "What  I 
care  for  are  people  worth  knowing." 

"  In  short,  what  you  want  is  sublimated  society — dullness  and 
mediocrity  weeded  out,"  Stanhope  would  answer,  laughing.  "  I 
fear  such  an  ambition  must  always  remain  unrealized." 

He  was  fain  to  confess,  however,  that  she  was  sometimes  very 
near  realizing  it.  The  people  who  filled  her  salon  were,  generally 
speaking,  people  worth  knowing — and  people  who,  having  been 
there  once,  found  it  pleasant  to  go  again,  and  yet  again.  For  she 
was  a  woman  admirably  fitted  to  be  the  center  of  such  a  circle ; 
adaptive,  versatile,  with  instinctive  tact  and  constantly  widening 
worldly  knowledge,  she  added  to  these  things  a  personal  charm 
which,  in  its  effect,  can  hardly  be  overrated. 

A  murmur  of  well-bred  conversation  filled  the  large  salon,  with 
its  rich  tones  of  color,  its  soft  wax-lights,  and  animated  groups, 
when  Stanhope  entered.  Many  familiar  faces  at  once  greeted 
his  sight,  and  as  he  moved  from  one  to  another  he  felt  all  the 
pleasure  that  lies  in  social  intercourse  after  months  of  deprivation 
of  it. 

"  Monsieur  Stanhope,  I  am  enchanted  to  see  you,"  said  a  spark- 
ling French  lady,  holding  out  her  hand  as  he  drew  near  where 
she  sat,  talking  with  a  man  whose  rugged  head  and  face  expressed 
intellectual  force  in  the  highest  degree.  "  And  you  are  just  in 
time  to  give  me  assistance,  for  here  is  Monsieur  Godwin  attempt- 
ing to  overthrow  all  my  most  cherished  idols." 

"  Did  you  not  know  that  he  is  an  iconoclast,  madame  ?  "  asked 
Stanhope,  exchanging  a  greeting  with  the  rugged-faced  man.  "  He 
has  a  hammer  like  that  of  Thor.  with  which  he  strikes  right  and 
left,  demolishing  all  one's  favorite  beliefs.  He  does  not  demolish 
any  of  mine,  however,  for  the  very  good  reason  that  I  never  let 
him  know  what  they  are." 

"  For  the  better  reason  that  I  doubt  whether  you  know  your- 
self," said  the  iconoclast.  "I  don't  care  to  waste  blows  on  shad- 
ows: men  like  you  have  no  beliefs." 

"  I  think  I  have  a  few,"  said  Stanhope,  modestly,  "  but  I  do 


42  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

not  preach  a  crusade  in  their  behalf.  I  am  not  sufficiently  assured 
of  my  own  infallibility.  You  never  doubt  yours." 

Godwin  laughed.  "  Perhaps  not,"  he  said.  "  Madame  la 
Baronne  will  agree  with  me,  that  a  fallible  teacher  is  no  teacher 
at  all." 

"  Gela  depend"  said  Madame  la  Baronne.  "  You  do  not  mean 
that  you  can  not  err  ?  " 

"  So  far  from  that,  I  only  mean  that  I  do  not  teach." 

"Like  a  Nihilist,"  said  Stanhope,  "he  destroys,  but  he  does 
not  rebuild." 

"I  do  not  destroy  everything,"  said  Godwin.  "I  have  a  few 
beliefs,  for  which — I  think — I  would  go  to  the  stake." 

"  You  are  quite  the  stuff  of  which  martyrs  are  made,"  said 
Stanhope ;  "  but  you  are  also  of  the  stuff  to  make  martyrs. — Let 
us  be  grateful,  madame,  that  he  has  not  the  power  to  send  us  to 
the  stake." 

"  Mafoi,  yes,"  said  madame,  shrugging  her  pretty  shoulders. 
"I  confess  I  have  no  ambition  to  wear  the  crown  of  martyrdom." 

"There  are  certainly  other  crowns  more  becoming  to  your 
brows,"  said  Godwin,  with  a  politeness  that  veiled  his  sarcastic 
meaning. 

Then  he  rose,  and,  with  a  gesture  of  the  head  like  that  of  a 
lion  shaking  his  mane,  walked  across  the  room  toward  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner. She  saw  him  approaching,  and  made  a  slight  gesture  of 
dismissal  to  a  young  man  standing  by  her — a  graceful,  brown-eyed 
young  fellow,  known  to  all  habitues  of  the  house  as  her  distant 
cousin,  and  also  as  the  petted  favorite  which  women  often  like  to 
make  of  men  younger  than  themselves. 

"  Go  and  talk  to  Mrs.  Percy,  Lionel — I  think  she  looks  a  little 
bored  by  Count  Schewndorf,"  she  said. — "And  do  you,  Mr.  God- 
win, sit  down  here  and  talk  to  me.  See  how  kind  I  have  been 
to  you,"  she  added,  as  he  obeyed,  "  for  I  have  sent  away  poor 
Lionel,  with  whom  I  know  you  have  scant  patience." 

"Patience  is  certainly  not  my  forte"  said  Godwin,  "especially 
not  with  gentlemen  of  the  type  of  Mr.  Lionel  Erne.  I  have  re- 
spect for  the  poorest  character  that  has  in  it  the  salt  of  sincerity, 
but  none  for  the  cleverest  talent  that  tricks  itself  out  in  borrowed 
plumes." 


HEART   OF  STEEL.  43 

"As  a  general  rule,  I  agree  with  you,"  said  the  lady;  "but 
you  are  too  uncompromising  in  the  expression  of  your  opinions." 

"  You  have  preached  the  suaviter  in  modo  to  me  for  a  long 
time,"  said  he,  looking  at  her  kindly,  "  but  I  am  made  in  too  rug- 
ged a  mold  ever  to  learn  it.  Bears  can  not  be  transformed  into 
greyhounds." 

"  No ;  but  bears  can  be  gentle  with  greyhounds,"  she  replied. 
"  That  is  all  I  ask.  Men  like  yon  are  too  prone  to  think  that 
strength  gives  you  a  right  to  ride  rough-shod  over  the  weakness 
of  others." 

"I  do  not  think  that  I  feel  it,"  said  Godwin.  "For  weakness 
I  have  pity,  if  not  respect ;  but  for  pretense  I  have  neither  pity 
nor  respect." 

"And  how  dare  you  presume  to  judge  always  what  is  pre- 
tense?" asked  she,  rousing  a  little.  "Mr.  Godwin,  I  have  often 
heard  of  intellectual  arrogance :  I  see  it  in  you." 

"  Do  you  ? "  said  Godwin,  with  a  laugh.  "  "Well,  it  may  be 
so.  I  am  a  bear,  certainly,  and  not  likely  to  change  even  for  you, 
I  am  afraid." 

"  You  are  a  bear  with  a  good  heart,"  said  she,  laying  her  fan 
lightly  on  his  arm ;  "  and  you  should  not  belie  your  heart  so 
often." 

He  looked  down  at  the  pretty  painted  toy,  which  seemed,  in 
its  delicate  perfume  and  grace,  a  part  of  herself. 

"  By  such  things  are  men  swayed !  "  he  said,  as  if  to  himself. 
Then  he  added,  with  a  smile:  "To  show  you  that  even  bears  are 
susceptible  to  flattery,  I  will  promise  not  to  be  hard  on  your 
protege — the  young  gentleman  who  plays  with  '  advanced '  ideas 
on  all  the  great  problems  of  humanity  as  if  they  were  a  set  of  in- 
tellectual toys  devised  for  his  amusement." 

"He  is  young,"  she  said,  apologetically,  "and  of  course  all 
clever  young  men — unless  they  have  some  better  anchor  for 
thought  than  he  has — go  with  the  current  of  their  age.  Instead 
of  bestowing  merely  a  word  or  two  of  ridicule,  why  do  you  not 
seriously  refute  some  of  his  theories?" 

"Nay,"  said  Godwin,  curtly,  "that  is  not  work  for  me.  I 
fight  the  leaders,  but  as  for  refuting  every  stray  disciple,  every 
boy  who  has  merely  caught  the  jargon  of  the  different  schools — 


44:  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

good  Lord  deliver  me !  There  have  been  fools  from  the  begin- 
ning, there  will  be  fools  to  the  end,  but  Bpearing  them  is  poor 
sport." 

"  You  are  incorrigible,"  said  she,  smiling.  "  I  shall  waste  no 
further  expostulation  on  you.  Tell  me  what  you  are  doing — 
what  work,  I  mean?  " 

"  Just  now,"  he  answered,  "  I  am  preparing  a  series  of  papers 
on  'The  Political  and  Social  Aspect  of  Russia.'  I  spent  five 
months  in  the  country,  to  observe  for  myself,  and,  though  five 
years  would  hardly  suffice  for  the  work  of  thorough  observation, 
still  I  had  learned  the  language,  I  had  many  influential  acquaint- 
ances, and  I  was  perfectly  free  from  prejudice.  I  had  no  more 
sympathy  with  the  Russophobists  than  I  had  belief  in  M.  Karl 
Blind  and  his  friends.  I  went  to  see  what  one  intelligent,  unpre- 
judiced man  could  discover  for  himself,  and  I  shall  profess  to  tell 
no  more  than  that  to  the  readers  of  my  articles." 

"  I  shall  look  for  them  with  eagerness,"  she  said  ;  "  but,  mean- 
while, can  not  you,  who  often  crystallize  so  much  into  a  brief 
phrase,  tell  us  what  was  the  result  of  your  observation  ?  " 

"Pray  do,  M.  Godwin,"  said  a  Roumanian  countess,  who, 
attracted  by  the  word  Russia,  had  drawn  near  to  listen. 

Then  Godwin  lifted  his  lion-like  head,  for  a  German  diplo- 
mate  came  up  also,  and  he  liked  nothing  so  well  as  an  audience. 
He  was  an  admirable  talker,  brilliant  and  powerful,  with  a  man- 
ner hardly  less  trenchant  than  his  written  style — a  style  which 
often  made  even  those  who  did  not  agree  with  his  argument  cry, 
"Heavens!  with  what  force  the  man  writes!  " 

He  talked  now  with  equal  force,  and  the  diplomate,  taking  fire, 
began  to  combat  some  of  his  conclusions.  The  countess,  eager 
for  the  fray,  chimed  in,  taking  issue  now  with  one,  now  with  the 
other.  Those  around  began  to  listen.  Scenes  like  this  were  com- 
mon in  Mrs.  Falconer's  salon. 

At  last  Godwin  ended  it  by  rising  abruptly.  "  I  have  given 
you  so  much  of  the  kernel  of  my  thoughts,"  he  said,  "  that  I  am 
afraid  you  will  not  care  much  about  the  shell  of  them  when  they 
appear  in  print.  Remember  that  I  do  not  expect  either  the  par- 
tisans of  revolution  or  the  apologists  of  the  government  to  agree 
with  me.  I  condemn  both,  and  I  have  sympathy  for  both.  The 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  45 

oppressions  are  undoubted,  and  the  difficulties  that  beset  the  gov- 
ernment are  gigantic.  It  is  an  impressive  spectacle  which  that 
great  nation  presents — throwing  off  the  fetters  of  barbarism  and 
struggling  toward  the  light  of  civilization,  the  while  rent  and  torn 
by  the  duel  d  mort  of  two  deadly  enemies,  an  irresponsible  au- 
tocracy and  a  wide-spread  secret  society  committed  to  the  most 
destructive  aims,  and  seeking  them  in  the  most  dastardly  manner. 

"But,"  he  went  on,  warming  again,  "  the  Russian  people  pos- 
sess two  great  levers  for  good,  did  a  wise  ruler  know  how  to  use 
them — their  deeply  rooted  sentiments  of  devotion  and  loyalty. 
Though  the  national  church  is  sunk  in  the  depths  of  ignorance 
and  corruption,  the  mass  of  the  people  retain  religious  faith  ;  and, 
though  the  rulers  grind  them  like  powder,  they  still  call  the  Czar 
their  father.  But  '  Heaven  is  high  and  the  Czar  is  far,'  says  their 
native  proverb ;  and  if  Heaven  and  the  Czar  can  not  be  brought 
nearer,  the  day  which  will  see  the  double  burial  of  faith  and  loy- 
alty is  not  distant.  And  when  the  masses  hearken  to  those  who 
cry,  '  Dreamers,  there  is  no  heaven :  arise !  let  us  possess  the 
tilings  of  the  earth,'  then  the  Romanoffs  may  take  heed,  and  on 
that  day  there  are  other  thrones  that  will  tremble  also,  M.  le 
Comte." 

The  next  moment  he  had  quitted  the  salon,  leaving  Count 
Schewndorf  in  the  act  of  shrugging  his  shoulders. 

"  A  singular  man !  "  he  said.  "  If  he  is  neither  for  the  gov- 
ernment nor  for  the  people,  what  is  he?  " 

"He  is  a  free-lance,"  answered  Mrs.  Falconer.  "He  says  to 
rulers,  '  Here  are  your  blunders ! '  and  to  the  people,  '  There  lies 
madness !  ' " 

"  The  task  of  critic  is  an  easy  one,"  said  the  diplomats;  "but 
to  say,  '  Here  are  your  remedies  ' — that  is  more  difficult." 

"A  countryman  of  yours,  is  he  not?"  asked  the  countess  of 
Mrs.  Falconer. 

"  Ob,  no,"  she  answered.  "  He  is  an  Englishman — from  what 
you  call  the  Xorth  Country,  do  you  not,  Mrs.  Percy? — and  has 
made  a  great  success  as  an  essayist,  political  and  social. — Count 
Schewndorf,  you  read  the  English  Journals,  I  know ;  did  you  see  in 
a  late  '  Nineteenth  Century '  his  paper  on  '  Phases  of  Modern 
Thought ' ?  " 


46  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

Before  Count  Schewndorf  could  reply,  a  new-comer  entered 
the  salon — a  slender,  handsome  man,  with  a  lofty  ease  of  bearing 
that  sat  well  upon  him.  His  finely  shaped  head  was  covered  with 
dark,  close-clipped  curls  which  were  thinning  away  from  the  tem- 
ples; his  face  was  boldly  and  clearly  cut,  and  his  dark,  thoughtful 
eyes  were  so  deep-set  that  they  looked  smaller  than  they  were  in 
reality.  Diffused  over  him,  like  a  perfume,  was  the  nameless 
charm  which  distinguishes  in  such  high  degree  the  French  gentil- 
homme,  and  his  manner  had  the  simplicity  and  grace  of  the  finest 
breeding. 

"  I  am  charmed  to  welcome  you  back  to  Paris,  madame,"  he 
said,  bowing  over  Mrs.  Falconer's  hand,  "  and  you  perceive  that 
I  lose  no  time  in  giving  myself  that  pleasure  since  I  had  my  first 
glimpse  of  you  in  the  Bois  this  afternoon." 

"  I  have  not  been  many  days  in  Paris,  M.  le  Marquis,"  she  an- 
swered. "  But  you — I  fancied  you  still  in  Scotland.  At  least, 
Lady  Falconer  mentioned  in  her  last  letter  that  you  were  at  Gleii- 
rochan." 

"  I  am  afraid  Lady  Falconer  can  not  be  a  very  good  corre- 
spondent," he  replied ;  "  or  else  her  letter  must  have  been  long  in 
reaching  you,  for  I  left  Glenrochan  several  weeks  ago." 

"  How  stupid  of  me  to  forget  that  the  letter  followed  me  from 
the  Tyrol !  "  said  she,  with  a  smile.  "  But  you  see  I  realize  the  at- 
tractions of  Glenrochan  so  strongly  that  nothing  is  easier  for  me 
to  imagine  than  the  possibility  of  any  one's  remaining  there  indefi- 
nitely." 

"  Yet  you  went  away,"  he  said ;  and,  though  the  words  were 
simple,  the  accent  was  expressive. 

"  There  comes  a  time  when  one  must  leave  even  the  most 
charming  place,"  she  answered. 

"  There  comes  a  time,  unfortunately,  when  one  is  ready  to  leave 
even  the  most  charming  place,"  he  said.  "  Glenrochan  is  no  ex- 
ception to  the  rule." 

"Were  you,  then,  ready  to  leave  it?"  she  asked.  "I  know 
that  ennui  is  the  fiend  that  lies  in  wait  for  you  in  most  places; 
but  I  thought  Glenrochan  might  have  proved  an  exception.  The 
shooting  there  is  very  good,  is  it  not  ?  And  I  have  heard  that  you 
are  de  premiere  force  in  matters  of  sport." 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  47 

"  I  have  given  much  time  to  sport,  and  derived  a  good  deal  of 
pleasure  from  it,"  he  replied.  "  But  my  taste  for  it  is  intermittent 
— subject  to  sudden  and  almost  total  eclipse.  My  English  friends 
think  that  is  because  I  am  a  Frenchman — but  I  think  differently." 

"  And  if  I  may  be  permitted  an  opinion,"  she  said,  "I  think 
that  it  is  because  your  tastes  might  perhaps  be  known  under  an- 
other name." 

"  And  that  is — " 

"  Caprices." 

"  JA,  madame,  quelle  injustice!  What  have  I  done  to  give 
you  such  an  opinion  ?  " 

"  It  is  rather  what  you  have  said  than  what  you  have  done,  so 
far  as  I  am  concerned,"  she  answered.  "  I  have  heard  you  speak 
of  liking  many  things  by  turns,  and  nothing  long." 

"  I  fear  I  must  plead  guilty  to  that  charge,"  he  said.  "  But 
there  may  be  an  explanation  besides  caprice.  Almost  every  one 
has  more  than  one  side  to  his  nature.  I  have  been  blessed,  or 
cursed,  with  many ;  and  sometimes  one  is  uppermost,  sometimes 
another.  To-day  one  order  of  pleasures  attracts  me,  to-morrow 
another.  Can  you  wonder  that  my  tastes  do  not  remain  fixed 
during  these  changes  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  not,"  she  replied ;  "  but  such  a  character  must  be  a 
great  misfortune." 

"  I  am  not  sure  of  that.  It  enables  one  to  taste  a  number  of 
varied  interests,  and  it  saves  one  from  finding  life  hopelessly  dull 
when  any  of  them  fail." 

"  But  at  what  a  cost !  "  she  said.  "  You  are  never  certain  that 
what  you  like  to-day  may  not  disgust  you  to-morrow.  You  can 
never  be  sure  of  yourself,  and  others  can  never  be  sure  of  you." 

"  That  is  a  complaint  which  I  am  happy  to  say  my  friends  have 
never  made,"  he  answered.  "  There  are  a  few  points  on  -which 
I  do  not  change.  But  there  is  no  stupidity  greater  than  the  stu- 
pidity of  talking  of  one's  self!  Pardon  me,  and  let  me  ask  what 
you  have  been  doing  since  we  parted  ? " 

"  You  wish  to  make  me  commit  the  stupidity  of  talking  of  my- 
self ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  laugh.  "  I  can  not  fall  into  such  a  pal- 
pable trap.  And,  fortunately,  here  conjes  Mr.  Stanhope,  whom  I 
hardly  think  you  have  seen  since  his  return  to  Paris." 


48  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

The  Marquis  had  not  seen  Mr.  Stanhope  since  his  return,  and 
the  meeting  between  the  two  was  even  more  cordial  than  Mrs. 
Falconer  anticipated.  Their  greetings  over,  they  began  to  talk  of 
Stanhope's  late  wanderings,  in  which  M.  de  Chateaumesnil  ex- 
pressed great  interest. 

"I  almost  wish  I  had  been  with  you,"  he  said.  "A  summer 
in  Scandinavia  must  have  made  an  effective  contrast  to  a  winter 
in  Asia  Minor." 

"  But  Mr.  Stanhope  spoiled  the  effect  of  the  contrast  by  intro- 
ducing two  or  three  months  of  Paris  between  Asia  Minor  and  Nor- 
way," said  Mrs.  Falconer. 

" It  did  not  diminish  the  effect,"  said  Stanhope.  "My  mind 
was  still  filled  to  overflowing  with  Eastern  pictures,  with  the 
memories  of  Eastern  types,  and  the  Scandinavian  characters  and 
customs  broke  on  these  like  a  Northern  morning  on  an  Oriental 
night.  It  was  like  stepping  from  the  'Arabian  Nights '  into  the 
'  Nibelungenlied.'  " 

"  What  an  advantage  these  Jiommesde  la  plume  have  over  us 
prosaic  men  of  practical  life!  "  said  the  Marquis.  "  One  striking 
metaphor  conveys  more  to  the  imagination  than  many  words  of 
description." 

"  It  conveys  an  impression — yes,"  said  Stanhope,  "  but  it  is 
by  no  means  always  an  accurate  one ;  and,  being  striking,  it  is 
therefore  the  more  likely  to  be  misleading.  I  am  inclined  to  class 
the  use  of  metaphor  among  vicious  habits." 

"And  self-depreciation  is  another  vicious  habit,"  said  Mrs. 
Falconer.  u  Fancy  M.  de  Chateaumesnil  classing  himself  among 
'prosaic  men  of  practical  life '  1  " 

"  Should  I  then  class  myself  among  men  of  impractical  life  ?  " 
asked  he,  smiling. 

In  this  way  talk  flowed  on,  pleasantly  enough,  certainly ;  yet 
Stanhope  could  not  altogether  restrain  a  sense  of  impatience  at 
the  absolute  lack  of  opportunity  to  exchange  a  few  private  words 
with  Mrs.  Falconer.  But  all  things  come  to  him  who  knows  how 
to  wait ;  and  presently,  when  the  room  had  nearly  emptied,  and 
the  Marquis  went  to  pay  his  respects  to  Mrs.  Vance,  he  at  last 
found  his  chance. 

"  I  natter  myself  that  I  have  behaved  with  great  self-control 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  49 

and  decorum,"  lie  said,  "considering  how  anxious  I  have  been  to 
hear  what  you  think  of  Madame  Lescar  and  her  daughter." 

"  Yes,  you  have  behaved  with  great  decorum,"  she  answered, 
smiling,  "  but  I  knew  you  were  impatient.  Now,  what  shall  I 
tell  you?  There  is  but  one  thing  to  think  of  Madame  Lescar. 
She  is  all  that  you  have  said,  and  more— if  more  could  be." 

"  But  the  daughter — what  do  you  think  of  her  ?  " 

"That  is  not  so  easy  to  answer.  I  am  as  yet  only  able  to 
think  that  she  is  very  remarkable." 

"  There  are  many  ways  of  being  remarkable,"  said  Stanhope, 
who  did  not  find  this  reply  very  satisfactory.  "  You  can  at  least 
tell  whether  you  were  pleased  with  her  or  not?  " 

"  No,"  she  answered,  "  I  can  not  tell  that,  for  hers  is  not  a 
simple,  direct  character  to  be  read  at  a  glance,  but  a  very  com- 
plex one.  I  can  only  say  that  I  am  interested — even  more  inter- 
ested than  by  your  description." 

"  That  is  something  gained— for  I  may  frankly  confess  that 
I  count  much  upon  you  in  this  matter.  What  should  I  do 
if  left  to  myself  with  such  an  explosive  compound  on  my 
hands?" 

Mrs.  Falconer  laughed.  "  I  have  not  discovered  anything  in 
her  of  an  explosive  nature,"  she  said,  "unless  it  be  the  strength 
of  her  feeling  for  her  mother.  Poor  girl !  My  heart  aches  to 
think  what  a  crushing  blow  is  before  her.  And,  thinking  of  it, 
I  have  determined  as  far  as  possible  to  win  her  regard,  in  order 
that  I  may  be  of  some  comfort  to  her  at  that  time." 

"You  could  not  have  a  more  charitable  purpose,"  he  said, 
"  for  there  could  not  be  a  more  desolate  creature  upon  the  earth 
than  she  will  be  in  that  hour." 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,"  she  answered.  "  I  have  read  her  well 
enough  to  see  that.  And,  by-the-by,  do  you  feel  inclined  to  act 
some  day  as  our  escort  to  Versailles  ?  I  perceive  that  the  only 
way  in  which  I  can  cultivate  her  acquaintance  will  be  by  arrang- 
ing excursions  which  will  also  have  the  advantage  of  giving  her 
fresh  air  and  recreation." 

"  You  know  that  you  may  command  me,  for  Versailles  or  any- 
where else." 

"I know  that  you  are  always  very  kind." 


50  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"It  is  not  exactly  kindness  in  this  case,"  he  answered,  "  since 
I  am  directly  accountable  for  the  trouble  you  are  taking." 

"Have  you  ever  observed,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  turning  to 
M.  de  Chateaumesnil,  who  again  approached,  "that  Mr.  Stanhope 
has  a  great  aversion  to  being  credited  with  any  philanthropic  or 
kindly  impulses?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  Marquis;  u I  know  that,  if  one  ever  com- 
mends his  sympathetic  quality,  he  desires  it  to  be  understood  that 
he  regards  human  nature  entirely  en  philosophe." 

"So  I  do,"  said  Stanhope,  "and  therefore  I  deserve  no  credit 
for  any  apparent  sympathy.  But  since  I  do  not  wish  to  be  forced 
to  such  unflattering  candor  with  regard  to  myself,  permit  me, 
madame,  to  bid  you  good-night." 

The  Marquis  followed  his  example ;  and,  as  they  left  the  room 
together,  said  :  "If  you  are  going  down  into  Paris,  will  you  not 
take  a  seat  in  my  coup6  f  It  is  below." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

STANHOPE  had  been  right  when  he  acknowledged  to  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner that  many  things  which  common  report  averred  of  the 
Marquis  de  Chuteaumesnil  were  true.  He  wa?,  indeed,  exceedingly 
well  known  in  the  gay  world  of  Paris,  though  his  fame  belonged 
rather  to  the  past  than  to  the  present,  as  time  is  reckoned  in  the 
fast  modern  world.  A  few  years  before  the  date  of  this  story,  he 
had  been  one  of  the  most  conspicuous  figures  among  the  host  of 
viveurs  who  flutter  through  a  short,  splendid  life  in  that  capital  of 
the  kingdom  of  pleasure.  A  favorite  of  the  salons,  a  leader  in  the 
Jockey  Club,  a  bold  rider,  an  intrepid  duelist,  a  daring  winner  or 
imperturbable  loser  over  the  green  cloth,  what  more  was  needed 
for  fame  in  Paris  ?  Yet,  as  Stanhope  had  said,  there  was  excuse 
for  his  folly.  Belonging  to  one  of  those  noble  families  of  France 
which  had  given  courtiers  and  ministers  to  the  courts  of  its  kings, 
from  St.  Louis  to  Charles  Dix,  it  is  almost  needless  to  add  that 
the  traditions  in  which  he  was  educated  were  those  of  strictest 
legitimacy  ;  and  that,  like  many  another  Frenchman  of  his  order 
and  political  creed,  he  grew  to  manhood  without  discerning  for 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  51 

himself  any  possible  place  in  the  public  life  of  his  country,  although 
to  brilliant  mental  ability  he  united  an  ambition  which  would 
have  supplied  the  motive-power  for  climbing  any  height.  It  is  a 
law  of  the  moral  as  well  as  of  the  physical  world  that  force  re- 
strained in  one  direction  will  find  its  outlet  in  another;  so  it  was 
not  surprising  that  when  the  death  of  his  father,  in  the  last  years 
of  the  Second  Empire,  left  httn  in  possession  of  a  fortune  sufficient 
to  maintain  the  dignity  of  his  name,  he  became  a  celebrity  in 
Paris,  according  to  the  manner  described  above.  How  long  his 
career  might  have  lasted,  with  what  result  on  his  character  and 
fortune,  there  is  no  difficulty  in  conjecturing.  Happily  (for  him), 
the  end  came  with  the  fall  of  the  empire.  "When  war  became  in- 
vasion, he,  like  most  of  his  class,  though  disowning  the  govern- 
ment, entered  the  army  of  France.  They  fell  by  scores,  the  gal- 
lant victims  of  an  almost  universal  imbecility — but  De  Chateau- 
mesnil  was  not  among  the  number.  He  was  severely  wounded, 
but  recovered,  to  fling  himself,  heart  and  soul,  into  that  tide  whicli 
almost  carried  France  to  the  port  of  legitimate  monarchy.  The 
failure  of  the  movement  is  written  in  history.  Then — overcome  by 
despair  and  disgust — he  dropped  all  interest  in  public  affairs,  and 
unable  to  take  up  again  the  toys  he  had  thrown  aside  when  called 
to  arms,  wounded  in  body,  sick  in  spirit,  broken  in  fortune,  ho 
left  France  and  spent  several  years  in  traveling.  Thus  it  chanced 
that  he  met  Stanhope  in  the  Levant,  that  acquaintance  ripened  to 
friendship,  and  finally  that  they  spent  a  winter  together  in  Syria 
and  Arabia.  On  their  return  to  Paris  in  the  spring,  the  intimacy 
continued,  and  was  only  suspended  when  the  marquis  went  to 
England  in  June,  while  Stanhope  started  on  the  Scandinavian  tour 
from  which  he  had  just  returned. 

It  was  natural  that,  as  they  rolled  down  the  Champs-Elys£es, 
the  conversation  which  began  at  Mrs.  Falconer's  door  should  have 
had  her  for  its  subject.  "  A  very  charming  woman,"  the  Marquis 
said.  "  And  since  I  am  indebted  to  you,  man  ami,  for  my  intro- 
duction to  her,  I  feel  bound  to  acknowledge  the  obligation  afresh." 

"  Oh,"  said  Stanhope,  "  you  would  have  met  her  in  any  event. 
Your  connection  with  Lady  Falconer  made  that  certain.  It  was 
only  a  question  of  time." 

"  Sana  doute :  but  you  anticipated  the  time,  aud  therefore  wheu 


52  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

wo  met  in  London  it  was  as  acquaintances.  And  I  found  her 
acquaintance  a  distinction,"  he  added,  smiling.  "  She  achieved  a 
striking  success,  and  might  have  been  one  of  the  celebrities  of  the 
season  had  she  made  the  least  effort  in  that  direction." 

"  There  is  nothing  she  would  be  less  likely  to  make,''  said 
Stanhope.  "I  have  never  known  any  one  who  cared  less  for 
social  notoriety,  or  who  was  better  fitted  to  wield  social  power." 

" Elle  est  grande  damejusqiCau  lout  des  angles"  observed  the 
other.  "  It  may  not  be — it  is  hardly  likely  to  be— a  common  type 
among  your  countrywomen,  but  here  is  a  proof  that  it  exists." 

"  My  countrywomen,"  said  Stanhope,  "are,  as  a  general  rule, 
very  flexible  and  adaptive ;  but  Mrs.  Falconer  possesses  those  qual- 
ities in  superlative  degree,  with  a  refinement  and  an  intellectual 
grace  wholly  her  own.  It  may  be  well  to  remember  also  that, 
despite  her  wealth,  she  does  not  spring  from  a  plutocracy  of  yes- 
terday, but  from  the  old  gentry  of  the  South." 

"No  doubt  that  explains  a  great  deal.  "What  has  been  said — 
that  it  takes  three  generations  to  make  a  gentleman  ?  But  I  should 
say  that,  even  then,  the  gentleman  would  be  of  very  inferior  pat- 
tern. And  what  is  true  of  one  sex,  must  be,  in  greater  or  less  de- 
gree, true  of  the  other." 

"  Mrs.  Falconer  has  generations  enough  behind  her,"  said  Stan- 
hope. "You  could  put  her  in  no  position  where  she  would  not 
be  able  to  hold  her  own  with  grace  and  dignity.  I  do  not  exag- 
gerate her  capabilities,  for  I  have  known  her  a  long  time  ;  and  I 
please  myself  by  anticipating  a  brilliant  future  for  her." 

"I  am  quite  sure  that  you  do  not  exaggerate  her  capabilities," 
said  the  Marquis;  "but  is  not  her  present  brilliant  enough  to  sat- 
isfy you  ?  She  seems  to  possess  everything  that  the  heart  of  woman 
can  desire — great  wealth,  assured  position,  unlimited  homage." 

"She  possesses  those  things,"  answered  Stanhope.  "But  she 
is  without  a  definite  object  toward  which  to  direct  them." 

"And  in  what  form  do  you  think  that  a  definite  object  would 
be  found  ? " 

"  Perhaps  in  marriage,  if  marriage  meant  alliance  with  a  man 
who  possessed  the  ability  to  win  personal  distinction — one  whoso 
career  her  own  powers  could  aid.  She  is  emphatically  femme  du 
monde" 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  53 

"  I  presume,"  said  the  Marquis,  after  a  pause,  "  that  her  mar- 
riage was  unhappy?  " 

"Yes.  She  escaped  total  shipwreck  so  narrowly  that  I  am 
sometimes  inclined  to  believe  that  she  will  never  embark  on  the 
sea  of  matrimony  again.  Hers  is  not  a  passionate  nature.  She  is 
capable  of  affection,  and  has  one  of  the  kindest  hearts  imaginable ; 
but  strong  emotion  plays  no  part  in  her  life.  Hence,  she  will  never 
think  the  world  well  lost  for  love,  and  neither  has  she  any  of  the 
commonplace  ambition  that  would  lead  her  to  marry  merely  for 
higher  rank.  It  would  need  to  be  a  combination  of  remarkable 
qualities  of  character  and  accidents  of  fortune  that  would  tempt 
her  to  resign  her  present  freedom." 

There  was  another  pause.  The  carriage  was  turning  into  the 
Place  de  la  Concorde,  starred  with  its  brilliant  lights,  when  the 
marquis  said : 

"  Is  it  not  within  the  limit  of  possible  things  that  you  might  be 
the  tempter  yourself? " 

"I!"  replied  Stanhope.  "Nothing  could  be  more  improb- 
able— I  may  say  impossible.  What  pretensions  have  I  to  aspire 
to  the  hand  of  such  a  woman  as  Mrs.  Falconer  ?  Her  wealth  alone 
would  crush  me.  Then,  what  would  become  of  the  brilliant  future 
which  I  anticipate  for  her  ?  Should  I  shiver  my  own  castle  ?  E"o : 
we  are  too  good  friends  ever  to  be  anything  more." 

"  You  believe,  then,  in  friendship — between  man  and  woman  ?  " 

"I  believe  in  it,  yes.  And  I  am  sorry  for  the  man  or  woman 
who  does  not  believe  in  it.  There  is  a  coarseness  of  mind  in  those 
who  think  that  passion  is  the  only  ground  for  regard  between  the 


"I  do  not  wish  to  be  guilty  of  coarseness  of  mind,"  said  the 

Marquis,  "  and  I  certainly  believe  in  friendship  of  the  kind,  under 

some  circumstances.    But  under  others — for  instance,  where  youth 

and  attractive  qualities  exist  on  both  sides — I  think  it  is,  at  best, 

a  playing  with  fire  in  which  one  or  the  other  is  generally  scorched." 

"  As  a  general  rule,  true  enough.     But  you  can  not  apply — " 

"Do  not  imagine  that  I  intend  the  least  personal  application," 

interposed  the  other.     "  And  no  one  admires  the  theories  of  Plato 

more  than  I  do ;  though  I  regret  to  say  that  I  have  always  made 

a  conspicuous  failure  in  endeavoring  to  practice  them." 


54  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

Stanhope  laughed.  "  I  wonder  if  you  have  ever  attempted  to 
do  so  ? "  he  said. 

"  Mafoi,  yes!  It  is  the  prettiest  of  games — for  a  time.  But 
the  women  with  whom  I  have  played  it  were  of  a  different  caliber 
from  your  fair  compatriot.  What  a  frank  glance  she  has  1 — how 
little  coquetry  there  is  in  it !  I  used  to  agree  with  La  Roche- 
foucauld that  coquetry  is  the  basis  of  character  in  woman — or,  at 
least,  the  basis  of  charm — but  she  has  almost  converted  me  to 
another  opinion.  I  can  fancy  the  purest,  frankest  friendship  alto- 
gether possible  with  Tier.  But  would  it  be  possible  with  any  man 
less  spirituel  than  yourself  ?  " 

"I  am  not  spirituel^  said  Stanhope,  a  little  shortly.  "It  is 
simply  my  safeguard  or  my  misfortune,  as  you  choose  to  consider 
it,  that  my  inveterate  habit  of  analyzing  character  and  emotion 
stands  effectually  in  the  way  of  a  passion  which  must  be  largely 
imaginative.*' 

"Ah!  You  think,  then,  that  illusion  is  always  its  founda- 
tion." 

"  Undoubtedly — and  generally  illusion  of  the  most  absurd  and 
monstrous  kind.  There  is  really  nothing  in  life  like  it.  We  laugh 
over  Titania's  apostrophe  to  Bottom's  ears;  but  are  not  follies 
identical  with  that  going  on  around  us  all  the  time?— nay,  have 
we  not  ourselves  been  guilty  of  them  ?  What  is  there  at  once  so 
ludicrous  and  so  pitiable  as  to  look  with  disenchanted  eyes  at  the 
object  of  such  a  passion?  You  spoke  of  La  Eochefoucauld  a 
moment  ago.  Do  you  remember  his  maxim,  '  II  n'y  a  guere  de 
gens  qui  ne  soient  Tionteux  de  s'etre  aimes  qutand  Us  ne  Raiment 
plus ' .'  For  my  part,  I  never  see  a  man  or  woman  madly  in  love, 
without  desiring  to  suggest  to  him  or  her  what  numbers  of  people 
there  are  in  the  world  equally  if  not  more  desirable  than  the  one 
desired.  But  you  know  what  the  answer  would  be  to  that — the 
answer  which  is  the  staple  of  so  much  passion  and  romance  and 
sublime  faithfulness  and  insufferable  folly." 

"Yes,"  said  the  Marquis,  with  a  smile.  "But  it  is  a  divine 
folly,  after  all,  and  when  the  capability  for  it  is  passed,  one  may 
feel  that  he  has  said  adieu  to  his  youth— and  who  ever  said  adieu 
to  youth  without  regret  ? " 

"  If  one  were  wise,  ono  would  bid  it  adieu  with  pleasure,"  re- 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  55 

plied  Stanhope.  "The  calmness,  the  self-possession  of  mature 
life  is  worth  more  than  its  feverish  delights." 

"  To  you,  perhaps — whose  amhition  is  moderate,  whose  pow- 
ers are  disciplined,  whose  passions  are  in  subjection,  and  whose 
mind  is  keenly  alive  to  every  source  of  enjoyment.  But  to 
others—" 

"  '  If  thy  friend  praise  thee,  contradict  him  not,'  "  said  Stanhope, 
laughing.  "I  don't  deserve  a  word  you  have  uttered,  except 
about  the  moderate  ambition — but  let  it  pass !  I  only  fail  to  see 
why  you  should  not  be  glad  to  be  free  from  the  fever  and  fret  of 
youth,  as  well  as  I." 

"  For  a  simple  reason — what  does  mature  life  bring  me  ?  Only 
weariness  of  spirit,  that  in  a  little  while  will  lead  mo  to  say  with 
Constant,  '  Je  nc  vois  de  motifs  pour  rien  dans  ce  monde,  et  je  n'ai 
do  gout  pour  rien?  There  are  men  who  can  carry  the  toys  of 
youth  even  into  old  age.  There  is  no  probability  of  my  being 
able  to  do  so.  And  when  they  have  ceased  to  amuse  me,  what  is 
to  take  their  place  ? " 

This  was  a  difficult  question  to  answer,  and  Stanhope  was, 
perhaps,  not  sorry  that  the  carriage  stopped  at  that  moment 
before  the  door  of  his  hotel,  where,  after  making  an  engagement 
to  breakfast  together  next  morning,  the  two  friends  parted. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"  Voild,  mademoiselle — une  lettre  pour  DOUS  !  " 
Irene  turned  in  surprise,  for  letters  addressed  to  herself  were 
rare  things  in  her  experience.  She  had  been  sitting  in  the  salon, 
a  book  open  before  her,  but  her  eyes  gazing  through  the  window 
toward  the  Avenue,  where  the  morning  sunshine  was  pouring  on 
the  changing  foliage  of  the  trees,  on  the  equestrians  riding  under 
them  to  and  from  the  Bois,  on  children  and  bonnes  taking  air 
along  the  broad  pavements.  It  was  a  bright  scene,  but  the  girl's 
eyes  did  not  reflect  any  of  its  brightness.  They  were  thoughtful, 
almost  sad,  when  she  was  roused  by  Nathalie's  voice  and  turned 
to  see  the  letter  presented. 

"  For  mo !  "  she  said,  in  an  incredulous  tone,  as  she  took  it. 


56  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

Then  she  saw  that  it  was  addressed  to  herself  in  a  quaint  Italian 
handwriting,  and  that  the  post-mark  was  Milan.  "  Ah !  "  she 
cried,  with  a  flash  of  light  on  her  face,  "  it  is  from  the  maestro  ! 
Nathalie,  what  is  mamma  doing?  " 

"Madame  has  risen,  and  is  taking  her  cafe  au  lait"  replied 
Nathalie. 

The  girl  said  no  more,  hut  rose,  crossed  the  room  quickly,  and 
lifting  a  portiere,  knocked  on  the  door  behind  it.  "  Entrez!" 
said  a  languid  voice,  and  she  opened  the  door,  revealing  a  pretty 
chamber,  with  soft,  striped  hangings.  In  a  deep  easy-chair  Ma- 
dame Lescar  sat,  wrapped  in  a  cashmere  robe  de  chambre,  with  her 
breakfast-equipage  on  a  small  tray  at  her  side.  As  it  is  in  the 
morning  that  youth  and  health  are  most  beautiful,  so  it  is  in  the 
morning  that  age  and  illness  are  most  apparent.  "When  Stanhope 
saw  Madame  Lescar,  he  thought  that  she  looked  very  ill ;  but  she 
looked  as  ill  again  seen  thus,  with  her  sunken  cheeks,  her  pallid 
skin,  and  her  dark- circled  eyes  unrelieved  by  toilet,  or  by  that 
rallying  of  the  vital  force  which  the  day  brings. 

Irene's  manner  became  subdued  the  moment  she  crossed  the 
threshold.  She  went  forward  with  the  utmost  quietness,  and, 
when  she  bent  to  kiss  her  mother's  cheek,  it  was  as  if  a  freshly 
opened  lily  touched  a  faded  and  dying  one. 

"A  happy  day,  mamma  dearest!  "  she  said,  softly,  in  Italian. 
"  How  have  you  slept  ?  " 

"  As  well  as  usual,"  replied  Madame  Lescar.  "  I  am  glad  to 
hear  you  speak  Italian  again,  carissima.  It  is  the  first  word  of  it 
you  have  uttered  in  weeks." 

"I  spoke  without  thinking,"  the  girl  answered,  smiling,  "but 
you  will  not  be  surprised  when  you  know  that  I  have  a  letter  from 
the  maestro.  Here  it  is  " — she  did  not  show  tho  letter  until  she 
had  said  this.  "  Will  you  read  it  ?  " 

"  Nay,"  said  Madame  Lescar,  glancing  at  the  address,  "  it  is 
to  you.  Read  it  yourself." 

"  I  will  read  it  aloud,  then,"  said  the  girl,  and,  drawing  for- 
ward a  low  stool,  she  sat  down  at  her  mother's  feet,  and,  breaking 
the  seal,  opened  the  inclosure. 

It  was  written  in  Italian,  and  conveyed  an  affectionate  message 
from  tho  master  to  tho  pupil,  "  the  sweet  singing-bird,"  whom 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  57 

he  missed,  with  many  injunctions  and  directions  to  practice  her 
voice,  and  many  hopes  that  she  would  soon  wing  her  flight  back 
to  Italy. 

''  The  dear  maestro  !  "  said  Irene,  when  she  finished  reading. 
"  Was  it  not  good  of  him,  in  the  midst  of  all  his  pupils  and  les- 
sons and  vexations,  to  think  of  and  write  to  me  ?  " 

"  He  thinks  much  of  you,  and  more  of  your  voice,"  said  Ma- 
dame Lescar.  "  He  could  hardly  forgive  me  for  taking  you  away. 
'  It  is  a  pearl  among  voices,'  he  said,  '  and  she  will  neglect,  she 
will  tarnish  it.'  Are  you  not  neglecting  it,  mia  cara  f  How  often 
have  you  sung  since  we  have  been  in  Paris  ?  " 

"  Not  often,"  answered  the  girl.  "  But  how  could  I  ?  You 
have  been  so  ill — I  so  sad." 

"  Listen,  my  child,  and  heed  this,"  said  the  mother,  gravely ; 
"let  nothing  interrupt  the  work  of  life— or,  if  forced  to  interrupt 
it  by  some  pressing  need,  resume  it  again  as  soon  as  possible.  If 
you  are  suffering,  it  will  not  make  you  suffer  more,  but  rather 
less.  Have  you  been  less  sad  because  you  did  not  exercise  your 
voice  ?  It  is  true  that,  if  you  feared  to  disturb  me,  that  was  a  good 
reason.  But  put  such  a  fear  aside.  Your  singing  never  disturbs 
me.  Go,  then,  this  morning,  and  practice  as  the  maestro  bids 
you." 

"  I  will  go  in  half  an  hour,"  said  Irene,  with  the  simplicity  of 
a  child  and  the  obedience  of  a  soldier ;  "  but  you  must  let  me 
read  your  '  meditation '  to  you  as  usual." 

She  took  up,  as  she  spoke,  a  book  of  French  devotional  exer- 
cises, and  read  one  of  the  chapters,  while  Madame  Lescar  slowly 
drank  her  cafe  au  lait,  and  ate  a  little  of  the  bread  which  accom- 
panied it. 

When  the  chapter  was  finished,  Irene  put  the  book  down,  but 
still  remained  on  her  lowly  seat,  her  hands  clasped  around  her 
knees,  and  her  eyes  lifted  to  the  blue  sky  that  looked  down  on 
them  through  the  window  near  which  they  sat.  It  requires  a 
very  beautiful  face  to  bear  this  upward  position,  which  brings  out 
so  clearly  all  the  lines  of  the  cheek  and  chin  and  throat,  but  those 
lines  were  so  perfect  in  this  face  that  the  mother's  gaze  lingered 
on  it  with  an  admiration  which  forgot  to  be  sad,  and  was  only 
fond  and  proud.  For  the  moment,  she  did  not  think  what  the  life 


58  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

of  tliis  richly  endowed  creature  should  have  been— nor  yet  what 
her  future  might  be.  She  only  felt  that  pleasure  in  contemplation 
•which  harmonious  loveliness  inspires. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  the  girl  at  last,  dreamily,  "  if  that  is  what  I 
am  meant  to  do — to  sing?  The  maestro  thinks  so;  he  says  that 
such  a  voice  is  a  great  and  wonderful  gift,  not  to  be  lightly  re- 
garded. '  To  you  it  is  given  to  express  what  others  only  feel,'  ho 
said.  But  it  does  not  seem  to  me  that  the  expression  is  complete. 
When  I  pour  my  soul  out  in  song  which  mounts  yonder" — she 
pointed  to  the  sky — "  I  feel  as  if  it  ought  to  carry  a  greater  mean- 
ing." 

"That  is  the  note  of  incompleteness  which  enters  into  every 
human  chord,"  said  the  mother. 

Irene  shook  her  head.  "Ko,"she  said,  "it  is  not  that.  I 
scarcely  understand  myself — so  I  can  not  make  you  understand — 
what  it  is.  But,  if  I  puzzle  myself,  it  does  not  matter.  When 
one's  life  has  a  strong,  controlling  purpose,  all  things  else  count 
for  little." 

"  And  what  is  that  purpose — with  you?  "  asked  Madame  Les- 
car,  startled  by  the  decision  of  those  words. 

Irene  turned,  with  a  motion  as  if  recall  ed'to  herself,  and,  meet- 
ing the  soft  gaze  fastened  on  her,  said,  with  a  smile  of  exceeding 
sweetness : 

"  To  do  everything  that  you  desire.  And  that  means,  just 
now,  to  go  and  practice." 

She  rose  as  she  spoke,  and,  bending,  kissed  the  thin  cheek 
again,  saying,  "  I  will  sing  all  your  favorite  songs." 

When  the  door  had  closed  upon  her,  Madame  Lescar  leaned 
back  in  her  chair,  and  looked  up  into  the  same  blue  sky  on  which 
the  girl's  eyes  had  been  fixed. 

"To  do  everything  that  I  desire!  "she  repeated  to  herself. 
"But  when  that  can  no  longer  be  a  motive,  what  then?  " 

Half  an  hour  later,  the  clear,  beautiful  voice,  having  executed 
many  scales  and  trills,  was  pouring  all  its  silvery  power  and  fresh- 
ness into  one  of  Gordigiani's  songs,  when  Nathalie  opened  the 
door  of  the  salon  to  a"dmit  Mrs.  Falconer.  Ir6ne,  absorbed  in 
singing,  did  not  hear  any  sound,  and  the  lady  motioned  the  serv- 
ant to  be  eilent,  while  she  herself  paused,  full  of  surprise  and  that 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  59 

keen  delight  "which  lovers  of  music  most  fully  know.  It  was  as 
little  as  possible  what  she  had  expected — this  wonderful  voice  fill- 
ing the  room  with  floods  of  glorious  sound.  When  it  died  away 
in  the  last  cadence,  she  caught  her  breath,  and  then  went  quickly 
forward,  as  Irene  rose  and  turned  around. 

"Forgive  me,"  she  said,  "but  the  temptation  was  too  great — 
what  could  I  do  but  listen  ?  "What  a  voice  you  have !  Do  you 
know  how  beautiful  it  is?  " 

"I  think  I  do,"  answered  Irene,  quietly.  "I  have  a  master 
who  has  praised  it  highly,  and  I  know  what  I  can  do  with  it. 
But  not  here,  this  room  is  too  small." 

"  Yes,  almost  any  room  would  be  too  small.  But  will  you  not 
come  and  sing — once,  at  least — in  my  large  salon?  It  would  give 
me  so  much  pleasure  to  hear  you  where  you  could  let  out  your 
voice  more  fully. — Ah,  Madame  Lescar" — as  that  lady  entered — 
"  you  have  coine  in  time  for  me  to  appeal  to  you !  I  am  charmed 
with  your  daughter's  singing,  and  I  venture  to  petition  that  I  may 
hear  her  in  my  salon,  which  is  much  larger  and  loftier  than  this. 
T»'ill  you  allow  her  to  gratify  me  ? " 

"  Surely,  yes,"  answered  Madame  Lescar,  with  a  cordial  smile. 
"  I  should  be  glad  fOr  you  to  hear  her  to  the  best  advantage. 
She  will  be  happy  to  sing  for  you — will  you  not,  ma  cherie?  " 

"  Some  time,  mamma,  when  you  are  quite  well,"  answered  the 
girl. 

"  We  will  not  wait  for  that,"  replied  her  mother,  calmly.  "  I 
am  so  much  better  just  now  that  there  is  no  reason  why  you 
should  not  go  on  any  day  which  Mrs.  Falconer  will  appoint." 

"I  am  like  a  child,"  said  that  lady.  "  No  day  seems  to  me  so 
good  as  to-day.  I  am  disengaged  for  this  evening,  and  if  you  will 
permit  your  daughter  to  dine  with  me — strictly  en  famille,  ex- 
cept that  I  should  like  Mr.  Stanhope,  if  possible,  to  be  with  us 
acd  share  the  pleasure  of  hearing  her — I  shall  be  exceedingly 
happy." 

Madame  Lescar  hesitated  for  a  moment.  Then  she  said  :  "  As 
you  may  imagine,  she  is,  with  regard  to  society,  a  child  yet.  She 
has  never  accepted  an  invitation;  but  it  is  as  well,  perhaps,  that 
she  should  begin.  Indeed,  I  feel" — here  the  dark,  lustrous  eyes 
looked  steadily  and  gravely  at  Mrs.  Falconer — "  that  Heaven  has 


CO  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

been  good  in  sending  you  to  open  a  little  the  door  of  her  cloistered 
life.  She  shall  dine  with  yon." 

Unconsciously  the  last  words  had  a  solemnity  both  to  herself 
and  to  her  listeners.  A  common  social  act  this,  of  breaking 
bread  under  another's  roof,  yet  here  it  meant — and  each  felt  that 
it  meant — the  first  step  into  a  new  life. 

"  Thank  you,"  answered  Mrs.  Falconer,  meeting  the  gaze  with 
her  own  frank  and  earnest  one.  "  Believe  me,  I  feel  your  trust. 
I  only  wish  that  it  were  possible  for  mo  to  have  the  happiness  of 
receiving  you  also." 

"  That,  however,  is  impossible,  for  the  doctor's  orders  are 
strict — no  excitement,  little  society,  early  hours,"  replied  Madame 
Lescar,  smiling. 

"  A  propos  of  early  hours,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  "  I  came  to 
ask  if  we  could  not  arrange  a  party  for  Versailles  to-morrow.  I 
see  that  mademoiselle  is  reluctant " — as  she  caught  Irene's  expres- 
sion of  face — "but  I  thought  that  it  would  interest  her  to  go,  if 
you  were  well  enough  for  her  to  leave  you  with  an  easy  mind." 

"I  could  not  go  out  this  evening  and  to-morrow  both,"  said 
Irene,  quickly,  with  an  appealing  look  at  her  mother. 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  "  I  should  not  ask  that.  If  you 
come  to  me  this  evening,  we  will  appoint  another  day  for  Ver- 
sailles." 

"You  are  very  kind,"  said  Madame  Lescar.  "I  understand 
and  appreciate  all  your  thoughtfulness.  But,"  she  added,  "do 
not  defer  the  party  too  long.  The  fine  weather  may  change." 

"  We  must  guard  against  that  danger  by  making  an  early  ap- 
pointment," said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "I  will  consult  Mr.  Stanhope, 
who  has  promised  to  accompany  us ;  and  do  you  object  if  I  also 
include  a  cousin  of  my  own — un  jeune  homme  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  answered  Madame  Lescar.  "  I  trust  Irene 
to  you  unreservedly,  sure  that  while  under  your  care  she  will 
meet  no  one  whom  she  should  not  know.  I  do  not  wish  to  keep 
her  from  meeting  men,  now  that  she  is  old  enough  to  do  so." 
Then  she  said  in  a  lower  tone:  "Nothing  is  so  dangerous  as  igno- 
rance. She  must  learn  to  guide  herself." 

The  dropping  of  her  voice  conveyed  to  Ir6ne  a  subtile  intima- 
tion that  she  desired  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Falconer  alone.  The  girl 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  61 

rose,  therefore,  and  softly  left  the  room.  Both  ladies  followed 
with  their  eyes  the  motions  of  her  tall,  graceful  figure;  and, 
when  the  door  closed,  their  eyes  met.  In  that  glance  everything 
was  revealed  between  them — the  keen  anxiety  of  the  one,  the 
deep  sympathy  of  the  other.  After  a  moment,  Madame  Lescar 
spoke : 

"  You  eee — you  recognize,"  she  said,  "  all  that  I  feel  with  re- 
gard to  her." 

"I  see,  and  I  do  not  wonder,"  Mrs.  Falconer  answered  in  a 
compassionate  tone.  "  She  is  so  beautiful,  and  she  has  such  rare 
gifts." 

"  And  a  nature  so  perilously  endowed,  that  it  is  impossible  to 
imagine  any  common  destiny  for  her — and  common  destinies  aro 
the  happiest." 

"  She  may  have  a  common  destiny,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer ;  "  she 
may  love,  she  may  marry." 

Madame  Lescar's  brow  contracted  as  if  in  pain. 

"  God  forbid  that  I  should  wish  her  not  to  do  so  if  it  were 
possible  for  her  to  find  happiness  in  that  state!  "  she  said  ;  "but 
if  the  perils  of  life  are  great  in  every  other  direction,  they  are  for 
her  tenfold  greater  in  that.  I  know  the  loneliness  in  which  sho 
will  soon  be  left ;  but,  facing  it  all,  I  can  not  wish,  I  can  not  hope, 
that  she  may  marry." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  Mrs.  Falconer  could  not  say, 
"  Is  the  memory  of  your  own  marriage  the  cause  of  this  ? "  but 
the  thought  was  in  her  mind,  and  Madame  Lescar  answered  it. 

"The  recollection  of  my  marriage  has  little  part  in  what  I  feel 
with  regard  to  her,"  she  said.  "It  is  of  Tier  that  I  think — of  her 
mind  that  soars  so  high,  of  her  passion  that  strikes  BO  deep,  of 
her  character  which  is  so  strongly  outlined,  of  her  nature  so  sen- 
sitively poised.  It  would  be  a  rare  chance  that  would  send  into 
her  life  a  man  capable  of  meeting  all  the  demands  of  that  nature; 
and  if  she  failed  to  find  such  a  man,  and  married  one  of  any  com- 
mon type,  the  result  would  be  misery.  See!  "  she  said,  breaking 
off  with  a  faint  smile,  "how  I  take  'your  interest  in  her  for 
granted,  when  I  speak,  and  with  such  confidence." 

"  I  feel  your  confidence  very  much,"  answered  Mrs.  Falconer, 
"  and  you  take  my  interest  for  granted  because  it  exists.  ,1  have 


62  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

seldom  met  any  one  who  excited  it  so  much  as  your  daughter 
does." 

Madame  Lescar  laid  her  hand  down  on  the  hand  of  the  other. 
"  It  is  my  earnest  hope  that  she  may  win  your  friendship,"  she 
said,  in  a  tone  as  if  she  were  pleading.  "  The  time  is  coming — 
coming  very  fast — when  she  will  be  left  so  utterly  alone!  " 

To  resist  this  appeal  was,  to  the  warm-hearted  woman  ad- 
dressed, impossible.  She  clasped  the  thin,  feverish  hand  in  her 
own  as  she  said  earnestly:  "  Do  not  regard  it  as  a  hope,  but  as  a 
certainty.  The  friendship  is  hers,  and,  as  far  as  lies  in  my  power, 
she  shall  not  be  left  alone." 

Each  felt  that  further  words  were  unnecessary.  The  pledge 
had  been  given  and  would  be  kept.  There  was  silence  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  Mrs.  Falconer  rose. 

"  I  shall  look  for  Mademoiselle  Lescar  this  evening,"  she  said. 
"  I  dine  at  seven." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

MRS.  FALCONER'S  invitation  was,  as  Madame  Lescar  said,  an 
era  in  Irene's  life.  The  girl  had  never  been  out,  in  a  social  sense, 
before ;  and  if  the  occasion  had  called  for  any  display  of  toilet, 
she  would  have  been  altogether  unprepared.  But,  even  for  a 
more  considerable  occasion  than  a  dinner  en  famille,  nothing,  ac- 
cording to  French  taste,  could  have  been  more  suitable  than  her 
simple  but  graceful  dress  of  cream-colored  cashmere,  with  a  clus- 
ter of  fresh  crimson  roses  at  her  belt,  and  another  nestling  in  the 
lace  around  her  throat.  Madame  Lescar  herself  fastened  these 
flowers,  and  looked  with  admiration  at  the  beautiful  picture 
which  the  girl  made — slender  and  straight  as  a  lily,  the  soft  tint 
and  folds  of  her  dress  just  what  a  painter  would  have  asked,  the 
only  point  of  strong  color  about  her  that  which  the  roses  pre- 
sented. But  as  she  looked,  it  was  impossible  not  to  remember 
her  own  brilliant  yonth,  not  to  think  what  a  different  debut  her 
daughter  should  have  had !  Before  her  imagination  long  salons 
opened,  where  that  stately  form  would  have  walked  with  so 
much  grace.  She  saw  the  shining  draperies,  the  jewels,  the  lights, 
and  then — 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  63 

"  You  are  lovely,  my  darling !  "  she  said,  with  passionate 
fondness.  "I  could  not  wish  you  other  than  you  are." 

"  I  wish  myself  other,"  said  Irene,  kissing  her.  u  I  wish  that 
I  had  your  coloring  and  your  eyes.  That  is  all  which  I  value  in 
myself — what  is  like  you.  The  rest — "  She  made  a  quick  gesture 
signifying  that  it  was  of  no  account. 

"You  have  no  need  to  desire  any  change  in  yourself,"  said 
the  mother. — "  Ahl  here  comes  Nathalie — just  as  you  are  ready." 

Nathalie,  who  had  been  sent  to  call  a  carriage,  entered  with  a 
cloak  hanging  on  her  arm — a  long,  silk,  fur-lined  cloak  to  wrap 
around  Irdne. 

"Ah,  mademoiselle,  quelle  charmante  toilette  1"  she  cried, 
with  a  Frenchwoman's  quick  eye  for  effect.  "  Et  vous  etes  bien 
coiffee.  Madame  a  les  doigts  d'une  f€e."  Then  addressing  her 
mistress,  "La  voiture  est  arrived,  madame." 

It  was  certainly  a  new  sensation  to  Irene  when,  having  parted 
with  Nathalie  at  the  door  of  Mrs,  Falconer's  apartment,  she 
found  herself,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  entering  a  drawing- 
room  alone,  announced  in  imposing  tones  by  an  imposing-looking 
servant.  But  there  are  instincts  which  supply  the  place  of  train- 
ing. Of  shyness  or  awkwardness  there  was  not  the  least  trace 
in  her  bearing,  and,  as  she  entered  with  her  proud  carriage,  her 
high-bred  air,  the  little  group  of  people  already  assembled  re- 
garded her  with  admiration.  Mrs.  Falconer  rose  and  went  for- 
ward, Erne  put  up  his  eye-glass,  Mrs.  Yance  glanced  at  Stanhope 
and  lifted  her  brows.  He  smiled  slightly — as  much  at  himself  as 
at  the  sensation  Irene  produced,  for  he  was  conscious  of  the 
awakening  of  a  new  interest  in  this  girl,  over  whose  future  fate 
he  was  destined  to  exercise  so  much  control. 

"  I  almost  began  to  fear  that  you  would  play  truant,"  said  Mrs. 
Falconer,  taking  her  hand.  "  And  that  would  have  been  a  very 
great  disappointment,  for  I  have  summoned  our  friend  Mr.  Stan- 
hope to  meet  you ;  and  my  cousin,  fortunately  for  himself,  dropped 
in ;  while  here  is  my  aunt,  who  is  most  anxious  to  know  your 
mother's  daughter." 

"  You  are  very  like  your  mother,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Yance, 
kindly.  "  And,  if  you  could  sae  her  as  she  remains  in  my  mem- 
ory, you  would  know  that  I  pay  you  a  great  compliment." 


6i  HEART  OF  STEEL 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,  madame,"  answered  Irene,  with  grateful 
eyes.  "  Nobody  could  pay  me  a  greater  one." 

"Madame  Lescar's  beauty  is  by  no  means  a  thing  of  the  past," 
said  Stanhope.  "I  doubt,  my  dear  Mrs.  Vance,  whether  your 
memory  of  her  is  lovelier  than  the  present  reality." 

Irene  looked  at  him  with  the  same  quick,  grateful  light  in  her 
eyes.  " It  is  true,"  she  said.  "I  am  certain  that  my  mother  has 
never  been  more  beautiful  than  she  is  now.  But  it  is  possible 
that  every  one  might  not  think  so.  She  is  thin,  she  is  pale — but 
she  looks  like  the  Madonna  Dolorosa,  and,  as  the  body  grows  more 
shadowy,  one  sees  the  soul,  which  is  even  lovelier." 

The  pathos  of  her  expression  touched  them  all.  Those  who 
knew  the  truth  felt  their  sympathy  almost  painfully  wrought 
upon,  while  Erne,  who  knew  nothing  except  that  he  had  been 
promised  that  ho  should  see  a  lovely  girl  and  hear  a  charming 
voice,  was  conscious  of  a  surprise  little  short  of  amazement.  His 
practiced  eye  took  in  every  point  of  her  beauty,  all  the  harmony 
of  her  dress,  just  as  his  ear  caught  the  soft  music  of  her  tones; 
and  he  said  to  himself:  "What  does  it  mean?  Is  my  cousin 
playing  a  jest — introducing  a  celebrity  as  a  debutante  f  " 

This  was  only  his  first  thought.  lie  saw  its  folly  when  he  was 
presented  to  Irene,  and  recognized  at  once  the  exquisite  freshness 
of  early  youth,  and  that  virginal  innocence  of  glance  which  is  only 
to  be  seen  where  the  life  has  been  as  absolutely  sheltered  from  the 
remotest  knowledge  of  evil,  as  that  of  a  foreign  girl  is.  He  flat- 
tered himself  greatly  upon  the  delicacy  and  quickness  of  his  per- 
ceptions, and  he  had  much  of  that  insight  into  color,  form,  and 
expression,  which  painters  display  in  the  highest  degree.  The 
time  had  been  when  he  had  spoiled  canvas  by  the  yard,  and  fan- 
cied himself  possessed  of  the  divine  afflatus  which  mortals  call 
genius ;  but  as  his  culture  advanced  his  belief  in  his  own  powers 
waned,  until  now  he  had  reached  a  point  of  fastidiousness  which 
made  the  satisfaction  of  his  taste  far  beyond  the  scope  of  his  abil- 
ity. Had  the  vulgar  necessity  of  bread-making  pressed  upon  him, 
he  might  have  been  forced  to  set  this  fastidiousness  aside — to 
Avork  despite  it,  as  many  a  heart-sick  artist  is  forced  to  do ;  but 
he  chanced  to  be  one  of  those  favored  children  of  Fortune  in 
whom,  as  George  Eliot  has  remarked,  "  the  unproductive  labor 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  65 

of  questioning  "  (whether  it  is  worth  while  to  take  part  in  tho 
battle  of  the  world)  "  is  sustained  by  three  or  five  per  cent  on 
capital  which  somebody  else  has  battled  for."  Erne,  indeed,  had 
an  indulgent  and  obliging  father,  who  still  battled  for  this  capital, 
and  put  much  of  it  at  the  disposal  of  his  son. 

"  My  cousin  tells  me  that  I  am  to  have  the  pleasure  of  hearing 
you  sing,  mademoiselle,"  he  said  to  Irene,  "and  that  your  voice 
is  wonderful." 

"  Mrs.  Falconer  ought  to  have  remembered  that  people  are 
generally  disappointed  when  their  expectation  has  been  excited," 
she  answered.  "As  for  my  voice,  no  doubt  it  is  good,  since  my 
teachers  all  agree  in  saying  so ;  but  it  will  never  compare  with 
my  mother's." 

She  looked  at  Mrs.  Vance,  by  whom  she  was  sitting,  as  she 
uttered  the  last  words,  which  were  addressed  rather  to  her  than 
to  Erne.  But  to  the  latter  they  brought  a  flash  of  revelation.  He 
could  almost  have  cried,  "  Eureka  I  "  He  knew  now  why  such  a 
distinct  and  unmistakable  seal  of  originality  was  set  upon  this  girl, 
why  she  regarded  him  with  eyes  in  which  genius  seemed  to  dwell 
as  by  right  divine.  "Whatever  his  follies,  it  could  at  least  be  said 
of  him  that  he  was  not  of  the  number  of  those  who  look  in  such 
eyes  and  fail  to  know  them. 

"I  have,  then,"  he  said,  after  an  instant's  pause,  "  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  Madame  Lescar's  daughter.  Forgive  my  stupidity  in  not 
recognizing  the  fact  before.  It  is  one  of  the  most  delightful  mem- 
ories of  my  life  that  I  had  once  the  honor  to  know  your  mother, 
mademoiselle." 

"  To  know  my  mother — you?  "  said  Irene,  looking  at  him  with 
surprise  and  evident  incredulity. 

"  Ten  years  ago,  when  she  was  in  America,"  he  said,  "I  heard 
her  sing;  and  though  I  was  very  young — not  more  than  fifteen — 
I  was  then,  as  now,  passionately  devoted  to  music,  and  I  have  re- 
tained the  recollection  of  her  voice  as  perhaps  the  most  exquisite 
that  I  ever  heard.  But  my  enthusiasm  had  more  than  her  voice 
to  feed  upon,"  he  went  on,  smih'ng.  "My  father  was  one  of  her 
old  friends,  and  one  day  he  was  good  enough  to  take  me  with 
him  when  he  went  to  see  her.  I  shall  never  forget  that  visit — 
her  beauty,  her  grace,  the  sweetness  of  her  look  and  tone  when 


66  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

she  gave  me  her  hand  and  called  my  name.  She  seemed  to  ma 
more  than  a  queen,  and  I  went  from  her  presence  wild  with  ado- 
ration. I  think  I  may  truly  say  that  Madame  Lescar  was  my  first 
love." 

"  She  has  had  many  successors,"  said  Mrs.  Vance. 

But  with  what  a  smile  Irene  rewarded  his  story!  It  flashed 
upon  him  from  every  eloquent  feature,  reminding  him  of  the 
transformation  of  light  and  color  that  he  once  saw  come  over  a 
woman's  face  when  he  chanced  to  praise  her  lover. 

"  How  happy  it  makes  me  to  hear  people  say  that  they  knewf 
admired,  or  loved  my  mother ! "  she  said,  with  a  glance  that 
thanked  him  while  she  spoke.  "  Tell  me  your  name — the  name 
she  called  you — that  I  may  tell  it  to  her." 

"  Lionel,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  suddenly  supplying  the  name, 
"you  will  take  Mademoiselle  Lescar  in  to  dinner." 

"I  should  like,"  said  Erne,  as  he  offered  his  arm,  "  to  be  per- 
mitted to  recall  myself  to  Madame  Lescar's  recollection.  I  have 
not  known  before  of  her  presence  in  Paris.  May  I  not  hope  that 
she  will  receive  me  ? " 

"  If  she  were  well  enough,  I  have  no  doubt  she  would  be  glad 
to  do  so,"  replied  Irene,  a  shadow  falling  over  her  face.  "  But 
she  is  ill,  and  since  her  arrival  in  Paris  she  has  seen  no  visitors 
but  Mr.  Stanhope  and  Mrs.  Falconer." 

"  And  my  cousin  did  not  tell  me!  how  can  I  forgive  her?  I 
am  not  even  indebted  to  her  for  being  here  this  evening— for  it 
was  merely  chance  that  brought  me.  But  Fortune  sometimes  fa- 
vors one,  and  it  has  never  favored  me  more  signally  than  to-day." 

The  last  words  were  uttered  as  they  sat  down  to  table,  and 
Mrs.  Falconer,  overhearing  them,  looked  at  the  speaker  with  a 
smile. 

"  You  do  not  know  yet  how  much  it  has  favored  you,"  she 
said.  "  Wait  until  you  have  heard  Mademoiselle  Lescar  sing." 

"  I  hardly  think  I  shall  appreciate  my  good  fortune  more  even 
then,"  he  replied,  "  although  I  hope  to  hear  in  her  voice  an  echo 
of  strains  that  delighted  me  ten  years  ago." 

"  You  have  heard  Madame  Lescar,  then  ?  "  said  Stanhope. 

"  As  I  have  just  been  telling  mademoiselle,  Madame  Lescar 
was  my  first  love." 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  67 

They  all  laughed,  looking  at  the  handsome  young  fellow,  who 
on  his  part  looked  reproachfully  at  Mrs.  Falconer. 

"  And  you  have  seen  her,  known  her  for  some  time,  my  cousin, 
and  never  mentioned  the  fact  to  mo !  " 

"  I  never  for  an  instant  thought  of  you  in  connection  with  it," 
said  Mrs.  Falconer,  frankly.  "Why  should  I?  Ten  years  ago 
you  were  in  round-jackets." 

"That  sounds  like  a  crushing  fact,"  he  said,  "but  one  may 
have  a  very  tumultuous  heart  even  beneath  a  round-jacket.  Youth- 
ful passions  are  considered  only  matter  for  laughter,  yet  for  depth, 
intensity,  tragedy  of  feeling,  I  have  never  known  a  passion  equal 
to  that  which  I  felt  for  Madame  Lescar." 

"  And  you  will  never  know  one,  whatever  its  depth,  intensity, 
or  tragedy,  for  an  object  more  fit  to  inspire  passion,"  said  Stan- 
hope. "  I  have  bowed  at  Madame  Lescar's  shrine  myself,  so  I 
know  whereof  I  speak." 

"  How  do  you  like  to  be  the  inheritor  of  such  a  renown,  ma- 
demoiselle ? "  asked  Mrs.  Falconer,  turning  to  Irdne.  "  Do  you 
not  feel  as  if  it  laid  upon  you  a  weight  of  possible  achievement  in 
the  form  of  fascination  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  the  girl  answered.  "  So  far  from  that,  I  should 
never  forgive  any  one  who  thought  that  I  could  compare  with  my 
mother  in  any  respect." 

"You  hear?"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  looking  at  Erne  with  a 
laughing  glance.  "  So  be  warned." 

She  led  the  conversation  then  to  other  topics,  and  Irene  soon 
felt  that  sense  of  ease  which  ease  inspires.  However  much  re- 
pressed and  overshadowed  youth  may  be,  it  is  still  youth  in  noth- 
ing more  than  in  its  elasticity,  its  matchless  power  of  snatching 
enjoyment  from  the  passing  minute.  The  girl  herself  was  sur- 
prised by  the  manner  in  which  her  spirits  rose,  her  tongue  was 
loosed,  her  ideas  gained  point  and  brightness.  It  was  her  first 
experience  of  that  wonderful  friction,  that  sbarpener  of  even  the 
dullest  wits,  known  as  social  life.  But  if  one  could  conceive  a 
young  fish  brough  up  on  land  and  suddenly  placed  in  the  element 
for  which  Nature  intended  it,  that  would  be  a  type  of  Irene,  when 
from  her  cloistered  life,  filled  with  sadness  and  darkened  by  the 
bitter  sense  of  wrong,  she  stepped  within  the  threshold  of  a  world 


68  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

which  every  fiber  of  her  nature,  every  instinct  of  her  intelligence, 
fitted  her  to  enjoy. 

After  the  ladies  left  tho  dining-room,  Erne,  who  opened  the 
door  for  them,  had  hardly  closed  it  and  returned  to  his  seat,  when 
he  broke  forth : 

"What  a  girl!  She  is  not  a  girl — she  is  a  poem  incarnate ! 
I  have  never  seen  any  one  like  her !  But,  then,  that  might  nat- 
urally be  expected  of  Madame  Lescar's  and  Prince  Waldegrave's 
daughter.  She  is  wonderfully  like  her  mother;  but  she  has  her 
father's  brow  and  eyes.  I  saw  him  at  Homburg  last  summer,  and 
I  assure  you  they  are  exact  reproductions  of  his." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Stanhope.  "  No  one  can  deny  Prince 
Waldegrave's  intellectual  ability,  and  it  is  the  brow  and  eyes  that 
make  his  daughter's  face  most  striking — so  striking  that  one  al- 
most forgets  its  beauty." 

"I  don't  think  one  forgets  the  beauty,"  said  Erne.  "One 
only  feels  that  the  intellectual  expression  elevates  its  character, 
giving  it  a  more  unique  nobleness  and  charm.  I  have  never  had 
any  fancy  for  insipid  beauty.  I  have  always  maintained  that  it  is 
not  beauty  in  a  true  sense.  How  can  it  be  ?  The  highest  type  of 
beauty  is  at  the  same  time  the  highest  type  of  intellect.  We  seo 
that  in  antique  sculpture.  I  should  like  to  model  Mademoiselle 
Lescar's  head!  It  would  be  as  fine  as  the  Pompeiian  Sappho." 

"  If  you  modeled  it,  no  doubt  it  would,"  said  Stanhope  with 
good-natured  sarcasm.  He  was  not  surprised  at  Erne's  enthusi- 
asm, but  neither  was  he  altogether  pleased  by  it.  He  had  a  vague 
sense  as  if  his  right  in  Irene  was  in  a  manner  threatened,  and, 
although  he  smiled  to  himself  over  this  feeling,  it  could  not  be 
ignored.  He  had  accepted  Madame  Lescar's  trust  with  reluctance ; 
but  there  had  begun  to  dawn  upon  him  a  conviction  that  after  all 
it  might  possess  compensations ;  that  to  stand  in  close  relation  to 
such  a  girl,  to  study  the  development  of  her  character,  to  direct 
the  unfolding  of  her  intellect,  would  be  interesting  to  a  student  of 
human  nature  like  himself.  And  now  if  Erne,  with  his  ffistheti- 
cism  and  his  theories,  his  ready  culture  and  his  equally  ready 
words,  should  usurp  a  share  of  the  influence  that  was  rightfully 
his  own —  He  smiled,  but  even  in  smiling  he  felt  that  such  a 
result  would  not  bo  altogether  agreeable. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  69 

They  did  not  linger  long  behind  the  ladies,  and  on  entering  the 
salon  they  found  Mrs.  Falconer  and  Irene  turning  over  music- 
scores,  from  which  the  former  looked  up  to  say: 

"  You  have  come  just  in  time,  for  IrSne  is  about  to  sing.  You 
see,"  she  added,  aside  to  Stanhope,  "  we  have  advanced  a  step. 
By  her  request,  I  have  dropped  '  mademoiselle.' " 

Erne  went  up  to  Irene,  who,  standing  by  the  grand  piano,  slim 
and  straight,  in  her  soft  drapery  and  with  her  crimson  roses,  made 
a  picture  naturally  pleasing  to  the  eye  of  an  artist,  however  em- 
bryonic. 

" Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "I  am  afraid  to  hear  you  sing? " 

"  Why  ?  "  she  asked,  with  some  surprise.  "  Do  you  think  you 
•will  not  like  my  voice  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  I  shall  like  it  only  too  well,"  he  answered. 
"  Music  is  my  passion.  "When  I  am  under  the  influence  of  it,  I 
am  literally  like  '  a  reed  shaken  by  the  wind ' — the  wind  of  har- 
mony. If  you  sing  as  you  look,  what  will  become  of  me?  " 

She  smiled,  but  not  as  most  girls  listening  to  the  language  of 
compliment  for  the.  first  time  would  have  smiled — and  she  did 
not  blush  at  all. 

"  What  usually  becomes  of  you  under  such,  circumstances  ?  " 
she  asked,  with  playful  mockery.  "I  fancy  that  you  listen  quietly, 
you  applaud ;  if  the  singing  is  in  a  drawing-room,  you  pay  a 
few  compliments;  then  you  go  away.  That  is  what  I  think 
you  will  do  to-night.  Now  imagine  yourself  in  a  stall  at  the 
opera !  " 

That  was  not  difficult  to  imagine,  for  it  is  seldom  out  of  an 
opera  that  a  voice  is  heard  like  that  which  now  rose  and  filled  the 
salon — so  pure,  so  clear,  so  highly  trained.  And  what  was  it  she 
began  to  sing — pouring,  it  seemed,  her  whole  soul  into  the  mel- 
ody?— 

"  Knowest  thou  the  land  where  the  pale  citron  grows, 
And  the  gold  orange  through  dark  foliage  glows  ? 
A  soft  wind  flutters  from  the  deep-blue  sky, 
The  myrtle  blooms,  and  towers  the  laurel  high. 
Know'st  thou  it  well  ? 

Oh,  there  with  thee  ! — 
Oh,  that  I  might,  my  own  beloved  one,  flee  !  " 


70  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

It  was  Mignon  herself  who  was  singing  to  them,  with  pathetic 
remembrance,  with  eager  yearning,  with  passionate  tenderness. 
They  looked  at  each  other,  thrilled  almost  less  hy  the  beauty  of 
the  voice  than  by  its  wonderful  expression.  Stanhope  was  amazed. 
He  had  expected  that  Madame  Lescar's  daughter  would  sing  well, 
but  he  had  not  imagined  he  should  hear  anything  like  this.  No 
drawing-room,  no  concert  singer  here,  no  organ  to  warble  arias 
and  ballads ;  but  a  voice  to  ring  above  the  heads  of  multitudes 
with  its  silvery  sweetness — a  power  to  sway  the  hearts  of  thou- 
sands from  the  lyric  stage ! 

"And  this  is  what  your  mother  has  been  doing  down  in 
Milan !  "  he  said,  when  the  song  ended.  "  She  has  been  training 
such  a  voice,  and  not  even  allowing  an  old  friend  like  myself  to 
hear  it.  Well,  she  is  fitly  punished — or  rewarded.  You  must 
bear  to  hear  that  your  voice  is  finer  than  hers.  It  has  the  same 
exquisite  timbre,  but  with  greater  range,  fullness,  and  expression." 

"  Monsieur  Stanhope !  "  cried  Irene,  almost  indignantly.  "  Do 
you  think  to  please  me  by  saying  such  a  thing  as  that  ?  My  voice 
does  not,  can  not,  compare  with  my  mother's !  It  wounds  me 
that  you  should  say  so. — Monsieur  Erne,  you  remember  her — you 
do  not  think  this  1  " 

She  turned  to  Erne  with  an  appeal  so  manifestly  earnest  that 
he  would  gladly  have  responded  to  it  as  she  desired  if  truth  had 
not  been  too  mighty  for  him.  As  it  was,  he  could  only  say : 

"  You  have  left  me  no  power  to  recall  any  other  voice,  made- 
moiselle. One  could  forget  anything  in  listening  to  yours." 

He  spoke  with  sincerity  as  manifest  as  her  own ;  but  he  did 
not  please  her.  She  swept  him  with  a  glance  from  under  her  long 
lashes,  as  she  said,  "  You  see  you  have  found  what  I  thought  you 
would— a  compliment."  And  then  she  turned  away. 

"It is  really  wonderful,  is  it  not?  "  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  in  alow 
tone  to  Stanhope.  "  You  can  imagine  my  surprise,  when,  with- 
out the  least  preparation,  without  even  having  been  told  that  the 
girl  could  sing  at  all,  I  went  in  this  morning  and  heard  that  voice. 
I  thought  that  I  must  have  wandered  into  the  apartment  of  a 
prima  donna ;  but,  in  truth,  there  are  not  many  prima  donnas  who 
possess  such  an  organ." 

"It  is  startling,"  he  answered.     "I  hardly  feel  that  I  have 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  71 

recovered  under  the  shock  of  surprise,  for  there  is  more  than  a 
voice  here ;  there  is  the  power  of  the  dramatic  artist,  that  power 
which  makes  us  feel  and  comprehend  things  indefinable  in  words. 
Who  have  heen  her  masters,  do  you  know  ? " 

"Oh,  C ,  the  great  maestro,  in  Milan,  he  who  usually  only 

trains  artists,  and  since  she  has  been  in  Paris  she  has  sung  for 
Viardot.  Her  simplicity  is  remarkable.  If  she  knows  the  value 
of  her  voice,  she  certainly  seems  to  care  very  little  for  it ;  and 
she  is  firmly  persuaded  that  it  can  not  compare  with  her  mother's." 

"Bah  !  "  said  Stanhope,  in  a  tone  which  it  was  well  Irdne  did 
not  overhear.  "  The  mother's  voice  was  lovely,  as  charming  a 
drawing-room  or  even  concert-room  organ  as  I  ever  heard;  but 
she  had  no  more  dramatic  fire  than  a  canary-bird,  and  her  voice 
was  not  powerful  enough  for  any  large  space  ;  whereas,  this  girl 
could  fill  La  Scala." 

"Let  us  hope  that  she  will  never  desire  to  do  so !  "  said  Mrs. 
Falconer,  fervently ;  and,  as  their  eyes  met,  it  was  evident  that 
the  same  fear  was  in  the  minds  of  both. 

There  was  much  more  music,  for  Irene  sang  as  often  and  as 
long  as  they  desired.  They  were  all,  with  the  exception  of  Mrs. 
Vance,  who  at  length  began  to  yawn  behind  her  fan,  musical 
enthusiasts,  and,  after  the  first  astonishment  wore  off,  the  evening 
was  full  of  delight.  Erne  felt  like  one  who  has  been  intoxicated 
by  sweet  sounds  when  he  found  himself  at  last  in  the  cool  night  air 
on  the  brilliant  streets.  But  above  all  other  strains,  it  was  an 
echo  of  the  South,  of  the  far-blue  seas  and  the  wonderful  blue 
skies,  of  the  poetry  and  enchantment  of  Italy,  which  lingered 
with  him  in  the  haunting  melody  of  Mignon's  song. 


CHAPTER  X. 

BEFOEE  Mrs.  Falconer  parted  with  Ir£ne,  the  day  for  their 
visit  to  Versailles  was  set,  with  the  concurrence  of  Stanhope  and 
Erne. 

"  I  hope  that  nothing  will  occur  to  prevent  our  going,"  she 
said  later  to  her  aunt,  "  for  I  have  quite  set  my  heart  on  giving 
that  poor  child  a  little  pleasure." 


72  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"Do  you  think  she  will  enjoy  a  day  at  Versailles?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Vance,  who  had  herself  found  such  a  day  very  fatiguing,  and  who, 
like  most  good  Americans,  restricted  her  sight-seeing  in  Paris  to 
the  shops,  especially  to  the  Bon  Marche,  where  she  reveled  in  a 
wild  dissipation  of  shopping,  returning  home  with  a  carriage  filled 
with  bundles — "Such  wonderful  bargains,  my  dear!" — most  of 
which  were  taken  back  and  exchanged  next  day,  according  to  the 
obliging  custom  of  the  Bon  Marchd,  for  other  bargains  quite  as 
wonderful. 

"  I  am  sure  she  will,"  replied  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  I  can  not 
imagine  anything  that  she  would  enjoy  more.  Then  there  is 
youth,  there  is  gayety  in  her,  and  I  want  to  see  them  brought  out." 

"  Are  you  not  a  little  afraid  about  Lionel  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Vance, 
after  a  moment's  pause.  "  Suppose  he  should  fall  in  love?  " 

"Suppose!  "  echoed  Mrs.  Falconer,  with  a  laugh.  "It  is  al- 
ready an  accomplished  fact.  Violet  Dysart's  star  has  set,  which  is 
something  to  be  grateful  for,  since  she  might  have  married  him 
at  last,  and  fancy  what  a  wife  a  girl  would  make  who  has  spent 
her  youth  running  over  Europe  in  the  attempt  to  marry  a  man  of 
rank!  Lionel's  infatuation  for  her  is  at  an  end;  and  if  Irene 
should  fancy  him,  think  what  a  happy  solving  of  all  difficulties  it 
would  be !  " 

"  Sydney!  "  said  Mrs.  Vance,  in  amazement  and  some  dismay, 
"you  don't  mean  that  you  are  going  to  try  match-making?" 

uWhy  not?"  asked  Mrs.  Falconer,  undismayed.  "The  idea 
never  occurred  to  me  until  I  sa\v  at  dinner  that  Lionel  was 
epris ;  but  now  it  arranges  itself  beautifully  in  my  mind.  Mr. 
Erne  could  not  object,  for  he — have  I  not  heard  it  told  in  the 
chronicles  of  the  past? — was  one  of  Madame  Lescar's  adorers  in 
the  days  of  her  brilliant  youth.  Madame  Lescar,  I  am  sure,  would 
not  object ;  for,  although  Prince  Waldegrave's  acknowledged 
daughter  would  necessarily  look  far  higher,  Prince  Waldegrave's 
unacknowledged  daughter  has  only  her  mother's  rank.  Then, 
think  of  the  ease  to  her  mind,  and  the  relief  to  poor  Mr.  Stanhope ! 
Oh,  it  grows  upon  me  !  " 

"  Sydney,  I  am  astonished  at  you !  "  said  Mrs.  Vance.  "  Match- 
making is  a  very  dangerous  responsibility !  If  they  should  not 
suit  each  other — " 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  73 

"  My  dear  aunt,"  said  Sydney,  "  if  we  waited  to  be  sure  that 
people  suit  each  other,  how  many  marriages  would  ever  take 
place?  Besides,  why  should  they  not  suit  each  other?  I  grant 
you  that  Irene  is  not  an  ordinary  person,  but  neither  is  Lionel." 

"  Still  it  seems  to  me  that  it  would  be  a  great  risk,  and  I — 
I  really  do  not  think  that,  if  I  were  you,  I  would  attempt  it,"  said 
Mrs.  Vance,  who,  like  many  people,  felt  more  strongly  than  she 
could  express  herself. 

"I  shall  be  quite  ready  to  assume  the  risk,"  said  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner, cheerfully,  "if  it  can  only  be  brought  about.  How  it 
would  cut  the  Gordian  knot  of  difficulty !  It  is  true  it  is  a  very 
commonplace  solution;  but  what  will  you?  The  commonplace 
is  a  thing  to  which  we  must  all,  at  some  period  of  oar  lives, 
submit." 

She  did  not  add  that  one  submits  to  the  commonplace,  as  well 
as  to  most  other  evils,  more  philosophically  for  one's  friends  than 
for  one's  self;  but  she  was  quite  in  earnest  in  thinking  that  here 
might  be  an  unexpected  avenue  of  escape  from  all  the  difficulties 
foreseen  by  Madame  Lescar  and  Stanhope.  It  is  true  that  the 
earnest  words  of  the  former  with  regard  to  the  improbability  that 
Irene  could  ever  find  happiness  in  marriage,  were  still  ringing  in 
her  ears ;  but  she  said  to  herself  that  there  was  a  chance  at  least 
that  the  mother  might  be  mistaken,  and  that  in  any  event  the 
lesser  of  two  dangers  should  be  chosen.  "  For,  what  lies  before 
the  girl  if  she  does  not  marry?  "  she  thought.  "  She  might  make 
for  herself  a  career  in  art — with  that  voice  it  is  entirely  possible 
for  her  to  become  a  great  singer — but  what  dangers,  what  insults, 
would  surround  her,  while  as  Lionel's  wife  she  would  be  sure  of 
being  sheltered  from  everything — except,  perhaps,  ennui,  from 
which  no  one,  be  he  lover,  friend,  or  husband,  can  secure  one  1 " 

With  this  conclusion,  she  laid  her  head  down  on  its  pillow ; 
but,  naturally  enough,  her  last  waking  thought  pursued  her  into 
that  land  of  shadows  which  we  call  dreams.  "Was  it  Mignon's 
song  which  bore  her  to  Italy?  At  least,  there  could  be  no  doubt 
of  the  association  which  led  her  to  find  herself  in  the  Church  of 
St.  Cecilia  in  Kome.  It  was  very  vivid — the  lifting  the  heavy 
leathern  curtain  at  the  door,  the  cold  chill  of  the  atmosphere  of 
the  church  after  the  sunny  warmth  of  the  outer  air,  the  perception 
4 


74:  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

as  she  advanced  that  two  figures  stood  before  the  altar — one  in 
the  white  robes  and  flowing  veil  of  a  bride ;  then  the  recognition, 
when  she  drew  near,  that  they  were  Irene  and  Erne.  The  mar- 
riage ceremony  did  not  take  place — what  ceremony  ever  does  in  a 
dream  ? — but  the  meaning  of  the  scene  was  plain,  and  the  dreamer 
smiled  as  she  woke. 

She  smiled  again  when,  on  entering  Madame  Lescar's  salon  that 
afternoon,  to  ask  if  the  latter  would  not  like  a  drive,  she  found 
Erne  installed  with  all  the  air  of  a  visitor  who  has  made  good 
his  right  of  entrance.  He  laughed,  and  colored  a  little  when 
her  glance  fell  on  him. 

"  You  see,"  he  said,  "  that  I  have  been  very  adventurous ;  I 
have  thrown  myself,  alone  and  unsupported,  on  Madame  Lescar's 
kindness." 

"  It  was  something  that  your  father's  son  need  not  have  hesi- 
tated to  do,"  said  Madame  Lescar,  with  her  smile  of  cordial  sweet- 
ness. "  I  suppose  that  I  value  my  old  ties  the  more  because  I  am 
so  wholly  separated  from  them,"  she  added,  looking  at  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner. 

"  I  hope  their  value  does  not  decrease  when  you  are  brought 
into  contact  with  them,"  said  Erne,  "  for  I  do  not  wish  to  shine 
only  in  the  reflected  light  of  my  father.  I  aspire  to  rank  as  an 
old  friend  myself." 

"  You  could  not  possibly  rank  as  a  very  old  one,"  replied  Ma- 
dame Lescar,  "  and  I  assure  you  that  the  reflected  luster  of  your 
father  might  satisfy  you.  I  have  never  had  a  better  friend,  nor 
one  whom  I  remember  more  kindly." 

"  No  dimness  has  fallen  upon  his  memory  of  you,"  said  Erne  ; 
"  so  you  may  imagine  what  pleasure  it  will  give  him  to  hear  from 
you — to  hear  that  he  is  remembered  by  you  !  And  I  shall  tell 
him  what  a  representative  you  have,"  he  added,  looking  at  IrSne. 

She  met  his  glance,  and,  leaning  forward  a  little,  said,  in  a  low 
tone,  "  Be  certain  you  do  not  tell  him  what  you  told  me  last  night 
— about  my  voice,  I  mean." 

"  Your  will  is  my  law,"  answered  the  young  man,  smiling. 
"  I  shal]  be  happy  to  tell  him  whatever  you  say." 

"  I  do  not  bid  you  say  anything,"  she  replied,  drawing  back. 
"  I  only  tell  you  what  not  to  say." 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  75 

"  Let  me  remind  you  that  it  was  Mr.  Stanhope,  not  myself, 
who  made  the  obnoxious  speech  last  night,"  he  said  ;  "  but  I  pledge 
myself  to  profound  secrecy  and  strict  obedience  on  the  subject. 
Yet  I  should  like  to  put  a  price  on  my  virtue."  Then,  quickly, 
"  Will  you  not  sing  for  me?  " 

She  turned  to  her  mother  with  the  simplicity  which  made 
such  a  contrast  to  the  occasional  imperiousness  of  her  manner. 
"  Mamma,"  she  said,  "Mr.  Erne  asks  me  to  sing  for  him.  Shall 
I?" 

"  "Why  not,  if  you  feel  like  singing  ?  "  Madame  Lescar  ans\vered. 

"  I  always  feel  like  it,"  the  girl  replied. 

She  rose  as  she  spoke,  and,  followed  by  Erne,  crossed  the  room 
to  the  piano.  Mrs.  Falconer  watched  the  graceful  figure,  struck 
again,  as  she  had  been  before,  by  the  entire  absence  of  anything 
like  self -consciousness  in  her  manner. 

"I  can  not  tell  you  how  charmingly  she  acquitted  herself 
last  night,"  she  said,  turning  to  the  mother.  "And  such  a  voice! 
"We  were  all  delighted,  and  Mr.  Stanhope,  I  am  sure,  will  have 
much  to  say  to  you  about  never  having  let  him  know  how  fine 
it  is." 

"It  has  developed  wonderfully  within  the  last  year,"  Madame 
Lescar  replied,  "  and  I  have  scarcely  seen  Mr.  Stanhope  at  all  dur- 
ing that  time.  Yes,  it  is  very  fine.  The  musical  connoisseurs  in 

Milan  think  very  highly  of  it,  and  Signor  C declaims  to  me 

upon  the  crime  of  robbing  the  world  of  a  great  singer  by  not  pre- 
paring her  for  the  lyric  stage." 

"And  have  you  thought  of  listening  to  him?"  Mrs.  Falconer 
asked,  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  put  the  question. 

"  No,  I  have  not  thought  of  it  at  all.  I  feared  for  a  time  that 
Irene  herself  might  do  so;  but  I  have  no  fear  of  the  kind  now. 
Her  pride,  which  is  as  strong  as  her  ambition,  would  make  her 
shrink  from  such  a  career.  Though  she  is  reticent  on  any 
subject  which  she  believes  would  pain  me,  I  can  tell  from  slight 
indications  what  she  feels;  and  I  am  sure  that  nothing  stings 
her  more  deeply  than  the  thought  of  my  ever  having  sung  in 
public." 

"  You  think,  then,  that  the  glamour  which  is  thrown  around 
the  career  of  a  great  singer  would  have  no  fascination  for  her  ?  " 


76  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"None,  I  believe.  She  realizes  too  keenly  how  different  her 
position  in  the  world  ought  to  be." 

They  were  silent  then,  for  Irene  began  to  sing,  her  pure,  de- 
lightful voice  rising  again  in  Mignon's  song.  This  was  by  Erne's 
request.  "  It  haunted  me  all  night,"  he  said  ;  "  it  made  me  dream 
of  Italy,  it  has  followed  me  like  a  refrain  all  day.  Pray  break  the 
spell,  or  deepen  it,  by  letting  me  hear  it  again." 

He  saw  by  her  smile  that  he  had  pleased  her.  "  If  you  love 
Italy  as  well  as  I  do,"  she  said,  "  you  would  rather  have  the  spell 
deepened  than  broken.  It  is  the  song  I  always  sing  when  I  am 
most  homesick." 

"For  Italy?" 

"  Of  course  for  Italy.     I  have  never  had  any  other  home." 

"I  can  not  love  it  like  that,"  he  said.  "I  have. had  another 
home — though  I  can  not,  by  any  stretch  of  fancy,  conceive  myself 
homesick  for  it! — but  Italy  is  to  me  the  Mecca  of  the  mind  and 
the  imagination.  Could  it  be  otherwise  when  I  aspire  to  be  a 
painter?" 

"  Do  you  ? "  she  said,  with  a  look  of  interest.  "  Then,  you 
must  love  Italy,  and  I  will  sing  the  song  for  you." 

She  sang  it,  if  possible,  even  better  than  she  had  the  night 
before,  and  Mrs.  Falconer,  leaning  back  in  her  chair,  listened 
with  the  suspicion  of  a  smile  about  her  lips. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  when  it  was  over,  "  I  know  you  are  ready 
to  petition  for  another  and  yet  another — and  Irene  would  proba- 
bly be  good-natured  enough  to  sing  them  for  you;  but  I  must 
interfere.  There  is  a  time  for  everything,  and  this  is  the  time  for 
the  Bois.  I  want  to  take  these  ladies  out  into  the  sunshine.  You 
will  come,  will  you  not? "  she  said,  turning  to  Madame  Lescar. 

"  Yes,  I  feel  to-day  as  if  I  should  like  to  go,"  that  lady  an- 
swered. 

Irene  rose  from  the  music-stool  and  turned — her  face  radiant 
with  pleasure. 

"Ah! "  she  cried,  "it  is  long  since  I  have  heard  mamma  say 
she  would  like  anything.  Madame,  how  kind  you  are !  "We  will 
be  ready  in  a  moment." 

She  drew  her  mother  quickly  from  the  room — as  if  she  feared 
some  possible  change  of  mind — leaving  Mrs.  Falconer  and  Erne 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  77 

alone.  The  latter  crossed  over  from  the  piano,  where  he  had 
been  left  stranded,  and  paused  before  his  cousin. 

"No  doubt  that  was  well  done,"  he  said,  "but  naturally  I 
don't  feel  very  grateful  to  yon." 

"I  suppose  not,"  she  answered.  "I  can  not  say  that  I  ex- 
pected your  gratitude ;  but  I  think  it  more  important  for  Madame 
Lescar  to  have  the  benefit  of  the  sunny  warmth  of  the  afternoon, 
than  for  you  to  hear  Irene  sing.  Eemember  that  there  will 
probably  be  many  occasions  in  the  future  when  you  can  have 
that  pleasure." 

" I  hope  so,"  he  said,  "  for  what  a  voice  it  is!  " 

"And  what  an  owner  for  a  voice!  " 

"Yes.  She  is  so  original  that  one  hesitates  to  use  ordinary 
words  with  regard  to  her." 

"  She  is  very  beautiful — if  that  is  not  too  ordinary  a  word  to 
be  applied  to  her." 

"I  think  it  is.  Other  women  are  beautiful — at  least,  some 
other  women  are." 

"  Violet  Dysart,  for  example  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  mischievously,  and  he  looked  at  her  and 
smiled. 

"  Beyond  doubt,"  he  answered.  "  Miss  Dysart  is  beautiful — in 
her  style." 

"And  how  does  that  style  compare  with  Irene's?  " 

"You  can  not  compare  them.  There  is  a  stamp  of  noble 
simplicity  upon  Mademoiselle  Lescar's  beauty.  And  when  she 
looks  at  one  with  those  proud,  clear  eyes,  do  you  know  what  one 
sees  in  them  ?  It  is  genius." 

"I  hope  not,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "Fate  has  been  hard 
enough  upon  her  without  that  misfortune." 

"  Why  should  it  be  a  misfortune?  " 

"What  else  has  it  ever  been?  Give  me  an  instance  of  a 
woman — or  man,  either — who  possessed  it  and  was  happy?  I 
hope  you  are,  as  usual,  artistically  extravagant;  and  I  beg  you 
not  to  invest  a  charming  girl  with  such  fancies." 

"  If  I  am  artistically  extravagant,  remember  that  artists  have 
eyes  that  look  below  the  surface." 

"And  sometimes  see  what  does  not  exist.    I  am  willing  to 


V8  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

agree  with  you  that  Irdne  is  beautiful  and  original ;  but  I  will  not 
have  her  converted  into  a  '  violet-crowned  Sappho '  and  doomed 
to  poetical  misery." 

"The  misery  is  your  own  imagination,"  said  he;  "but  it  is 
curious  that  you  should  speak  of  Sappho.  I  told  Mr.  Stanhope 
last  night  that  she  reminded  me  of  the  bust  of  the  Pompeiian 
Sappho." 

"You  see  I  know  you  so  well.  I  can  predict  your  line  of 
probable  comparison.  She  is  certainly  a  very  striking  girl,  but 
I  hope  not  so  remarkable  as  you  fancy." 

"I  could  hardly  fancy  her  more  remarkable  than  she  is,"  he 
answered. 

The  conversation  was  ended  here  by  the  entrance  of  Madame 
Lescar  and  Irene,  and  then  it  appeared  that  there  was  an  un- 
expected pleasure  in  store  for  the  young  man. 

After  he  had  gone  out  with  the  ladies  and  put  them  into  the 
carriage,  he  was  in  the  act  of  closing  the  door  when  Mrs.  Falconer 
pointed  to  the  fourth,  unoccupied  seat. 

"Will  you  take  it?"  she  said.  "We  are  in  rather  alarming 
preponderance ;  but  we  shall  not  make  the  tour  du  Lac,  so  you 
may  not  mind." 

"  Mind ! — I  shall  only  be  too  happy,"  he  said,  eagerly,  as  he 
stepped  in.  Irene  made  room  for  him  with  a  smile,  and  they 
drove  off  in  the  great  afternoon  tide  of  equipages  toward  the 
Bois. 

On  entering  the  gates,  however,  they  turned,  as  Mrs.  Falconer 
had  said,  and  avoiding  the  crowded  drive  along  the  lake,  where 
faces  are  scanned  and  toilets  displayed,  followed  some  of  the 
beautiful  winding  roads  toward  the  Pr6  Catelan.  It  was  evident 
that  Madame  Lescar  enjoyed  the  luxurious  motion,  the  exhilarat- 
ing air  and  soft  sunshine,  and,  seeing  this,  Irene  gave  herself  up 
to  enjoyment  also.  The  exquisite  face  under  its  picturesque  dark- 
plumed  hat  was  a  revelation  of  loveliness  to  Erne,  and  he  had  no 
more  idea  of  resisting  the  enchanting  influences  brought  to  bear 
upon  him  than  if  he  had  been  a  child  of  nature  instead  of  a  prod- 
uct of  the  latest  philosophy  of  culture.  "Falling  in  love,"  says 

some  one,  "  is  as  delightful  as  falling  out  again  is  disagreeable" 

and,  to  a  man  trained  to  appreciate  every  delicate  ebb  and  flow  of 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  79 

feeling,  there  is  certainly  a  charm  in  the  first  dawn  of  sentiment, 
the  play  of  fancy,  the  subtile  glow  of  interest,  that  may  lead  to 
passion.  It  is  the  prelude  of  a  drama  that  may  prove  a  tragedy — 
but  in  the  sweetness  of  its  fairy  overture  who  thinks  of  this  ? 

Certainly  not  Erne,  with  whom  the  drama  had  never  advanced 
beyond  the  first  act.  He  had,  so  far,  played  with  feeling  much 
as  he  had  done  with  art ;  and  though  he  had  a  consciousness  at 
the  present  time  that  he  was  stirred  in  some  newer,  perhaps 
deeper  manner,  than  ever  before,  the  emotion  was  altogether  one 
of  pleasure — as  delicate  and  fine  in  its  nature  as  the  object  which 
inspired  it.  It  was  a  golden  hour— not  only  to  the  young  syba- 
rite, but  also  to  his  companions — to  Madame  Lescar,  in  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner's kindness  to  her  daughter,  as  well  as  in  the  air  and  sun- 
shine ;  to  Irene,  in  her  mother's  brightness,  and  after  that  in.  the 
varying  beauty  of  the  great  pleasure-ground  and  in  the  exchange 
of  quick  thought  and  repartee  with  a  companion  whose  eyes 
would  have  spoken  admiration  to  the  dullest  capacity ;  while  Mrs. 
Falconer  felt  the  most  benevolent  satisfaction,  as  she  thought, 
"  Surely  here  is  the  best  solution  for  the  difficulty." 

But  golden  hours  always  end  speedily;  and  this  one  was  no 
exception  to  the  rule.  The  champing  horses  were  again  drawn 
up  before  the  gate  on  the  Avenue  du  Bois  de  Boulogne,  and,  when 
Madame  Lescar  and  Irene  parted  with  their  companions,  Erne's 
last  words  were : 

"  I  shall  have  the  happiness  of  seeing  you  soon  again,  made- 
moiselle, for  you  know  Thursday  is  the  day  we  go  to  Versailles." 


CHAPTER  XL 

ON  Thursday  Fortune  favored  them  with  fine  weather,  and  at 
an  early  hour  of  the  morning  the  two  ladies  drove  up  to  the  Gare 
St.  Lazare,  where  Stanhope  and  Erne  awaited  them.  Both  men 
were  struck  by  the  radiance  that  animated  Irene  and  spoke  in 
her  every  air  and  movement.  She  looked  like  a  young  princess 
gazing  out  on  the  world  with  fearless,  beautiful  eyes  that  to-day 
had  in  them  something  of  a  child's  joyousness. 

"Mamma  was  so  well  when  I  bade  her  good-by,"  she  said, 


80  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

as  she  gave  her  hand  to  Stanhope.  "  She  told  me  to  enjoy  every- 
thing— and  I  think  I  shall.  I  have  never  before  had  a  whole 
day  of  pleasure." 

"  A  whole  day  of  pleasure  is  a  thing  that  is  not  often  granted 
to  any  of  us,"  said  Stanhope,  with  his  pleasant,  whimsical  smile. 
"  Something  generally  interferes,  if  it  is  only  the  morning  mail. 
The  sole  chance  to  obtain  it  is  to  run  away — as  we  are  doing 
now." 

"At  least,  we  are  all  in  spirits  to  enjoy  it,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer. 
"  Have  you  taken  the  tickets,  Lionel  ?  The  doors  are  opening — 
attonsf" 

A  minute  later  they  were  rolling  out  of  Paris,  secure  from  any 
invasion  on  the  privacy  of  their  first-class  carriage.  And  their 
spirits  during  the  short  journey  justified  Mrs.  Falconer's  opinion. 
She  herself  was  one  of  the  fortunate  people  whom  their  friends 
call  "  equable,"  but  those  who  knew  her  intimately  knew  that 
she  had  accessions  of  brightness,  and  this  was  plainly  one  of  her 
brightest  days.  In  truth,  she  felt  as  light-hearted  as  possible,  for 
she  was  not  only  doing  a  kind  action — in  which  she  always  de- 
lighted to  a  degree  that,  as  she  often  declared,  robbed  her  of 
merit — but  sbe  was  with  people  who  were  thoroughly  agreeable 
to  her.  The  last  was  one  of  her  prime  requisites.  "  I  flatter  myself 
that  I  have  mastered  the  art  of  being  bored  with  as  amiable  de- 
meanor as  any  woman  in  Christendom,"  she  often  said;  "but, 
for  all  that,  I  don't  like  it — while  I  adore  good  companionship." 
That  she  had  what  she  wanted  to-day  was  obvious,  and  her  be- 
coming costume — a  triumph  of  dress-making  and  millinery  art 
— proved  that  she  had  thought  her  companions  worth  looking  her 
best  for. 

One  of  them,  at  least,  appreciated  this.  Stanhope's  senti- 
ments with  regard  to  women  were  not  such  as  the  sex  in  general 
would  cordially  have  approved ;  but  no  man  found  more  pleasure 
in  association  with  individuals  of  that  sex,  and  it  has  already  been 
said  that  Mrs.  Falconer  always  put  him  at  his  best.  There  was 
consequently  very  good  reason  for  his  spirits,  albeit  their  flow 
was  of  the  quietest  description;  while  Erne  just  then  asked 
nothing  better  than  the  smile  of  the  lovely  face  before  him, 
or  the  glance  of  the  eyes  that  seemed  to  bring  the  sunshine 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  81 

with  them  whenever  they  turned  from  the  wide,  light-flooded 
landscape. 

The  beautiful  day  had  not  a  cloud  upon  it  when  they  reached 
Versailles,  and,  stepping  into  an  open  carriage,  were  driven  di- 
rectly to  tLe  palace — up  the  broad  avenue  which  leads  to  the 
Place  d'Armes,  into  the  grand  court  lined  with  colossal  statues  of 
the  great  men  of  France,  with  the  proud  equestrian  figure  of 
Louis  Quatorze  keeping  guard  over  the  palace  and  the  city  that 
rose  like  magic  at  the  bidding  of  his  imperious  will.  When  they 
alighted  and  looked  at  the  immense  pile  which  overshadowed 
them,  and  read  the  inscription  dedicating  it,  "A  toutes  lea  gloires 
de  la  France,"  it  was  impossible  not  to  think  of  the  glories  be- 
longing to  that  ancien  regime,  which,  with  all  its  faults,  lifted  the 
fair  name  of  France  so  high,  bore  it  with  such  grace  in  a  hun- 
dred courts,  and  blazoned  it  with  deeds  of  daring  on  a  thousand 
battle-fields. 

But  they  are  silent  and  empty  now — the  golden  chambers  of 
that  wonderful  palace — though  it  is  silence  eloquent  of  a  myriad 
brilliant  memories.  For  the  world  had  never  seen  before,  and 
probably  will  never  see  again,  such  magnificence,  united  with 
such  grace  of  wit,  such  elegance  of  manners,  as  that  which  reigned 
here,  from  the  palmy  days  of  the  Grand  Monarque  to  the  day 
when  the  hoarse  clamor  of  revolution  was  heard  within  these 
gilded  walls.  Stanhope,  to  whom  French  memoirs  had  always 
been  peculiarly  interesting,  and  who  was  therefore  well  versed 
in  the  annals  of  Versailles,  found  himself  drawing  npon  this  store 
of  knowledge  to  a  degree  which  astonished  him,  for  he  generally 
disliked  the  attitude  of  instructor.  But  Irene's  enthusiasm  was 
too  contagious  to  be  resisted ;  and  her  imagination  seized  so  read- 
ily upon  outlines,  and  colored  them  with  life,  that  it  seemed  as  if 
the  stirring,  picturesque  tide  of  splendor  and  intrigue  rolled  back, 
courtiers  once  more  thronged  the  (Eil  de  Boeuf,  famous  beauties 
filled  the  salons,  the  voice  of  Louis  XIV  seemed  still  echoing  in 
the  Cabinet  du  Roi,  the  superb  salons  and  Grande  Galerie  des 
Glaces  blazed  with  lights  and  a  multitude  of  richly  clad  forms,  as 
the  pageant  of  vanished  courts  swept  through  them  by  the  aid  of 
a  girl's  vivid  fancy. 

"And  they  have  all  passed  away,"  she  said,  standing  slender 


82  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

and  straight  in  the  sunlight  which  fell  in  a  stream  through  one 
of  the  great  windows  on  gilded  ceiling:  and  polished  floor,  "  and 
there  is  nothing  to  tell  of  them  but  history.  Surely  history  is  a 
wonderful  thing." 

"Kather  a  dull  thing  to  most  people,"  said  Erne,  "but  you 
seem  to  make  the  dry  bones  live."  Then,  as  she  looked  at  him, 
he  added,  "You  put  a  soul  into  them— the  soul  of  poetry." 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  said,  quickly,  "  pray  do  not  think  so !  It  is 
only  that  what  is  real — what  has  been — thrills  me  more  than  any 
imaginary  creation.  Why  should  we  care  so  much  for  what  some 
great  men  have  written  about  mere  abstractions,  and  so  little  for 
people  whose  pulses  have  beat,  whose  hearts  have  bled,  like  our 
own? " 

"  We  care  for  them  when  a  great  master  of  poetic  art — a 
Shakespeare,  a  Schiller,  a  Walter  Scott — brings  them  before  us 
vividly,  brushes  away  the  dust  of  the  past  and  lets  us  hear  the 
pulses  beat." 

She  regarded  him  with  something  like  surprise.  "  But  do  you 
need  such  an  interpreter  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I  think  the  best  that  can 
be  said  is  poor  compared  to  what  one  can  fancy  for  one's  self.  The 
power  of  expression  is  so  limited ;  there  are  so  many  inexpres- 
sible things.  One  feels,  one  understands  all  the  play  of  human 
life  that  has  taken  place  here — but  who  could  put  it  all  in  words? " 

"I  am  afraid  my  imagination  is  deficient,"  said  the  young 
man,  smiling.  "I  need  to  have  it  stimulated.  I  need  an  inter- 
preter— and  you  are  jiist  the  interpreter  I  need." 

"Mr.  Stanhope  is  a  much  better  one,"  she  said.  "He  can  tell 
you  what  Saint- Simon  and  M.  de  Luynes  and  the  Due  de  Eiche- 
lieu  have  left  on  record  of  that  brilliant  life." 

Stanhope,  who  overheard  her,  smiled.  "You  are  mistaken," 
he  said ;  "  I  am  not  the  interpreter  Lionel  wants.  And,  to  do  him 
justice,  he  is  right.  I  can  only  give  him  facts,  which  are  within 
his  reach  as  well  as  mine — you  give  him  fancies." 

"  But  fancies  have  no  value,"  said  she,  blushing  a  little. 

"Have  they  not?  Put  them  in  a  scale  against  facts,  and  facts 
have  no  chance  at  all;  it  is  like  the  old  saying  about  the  ballads 
and  the  laws.  Moreover,  they  have  a  value  of  their  own — they 
are  to  facts  what  spirit  is  to  matter." 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  83 

So  talking,  they  wandered  on  through  the  magnificent  rooms 
where  a  great  monarchy  danced  and  feasted  to  its  end,  paused 
before  numbers  of  historical  portraits,  admired  many  a  fair  face, 
criticised  many  a  great  one,  tried  to  picture  the  gorgeous  theatre 
with  its  courtly  throngs,  and  presently  found  themselves  within 
the  richly  decorated  walls  of  the  chapel. 

"  Do  not  let  fancy  run  away  with  you  here,"  whispered  Stan- 
hope to  Irene.  "  This  is  not  where  Bossuet  and  Massillon  thun- 
dered the  great  truths  of  death  and  eternity  into  the  ears  of  a 
startled  court.  That  was  in  the  older  chapel.  But  it  may  be 
worth  remembering  that  before  this  altar  Louis  XVI  and  Marie 
Antoinette  joined  their  hands  in  marriage." 

From  the  chapel  they  went  out  into  the  park,  where  the  golden 
day  was  holding  high  carnival ;  where  the  great  basins  of  water 
were  flashing  back  the  sunlight ;  where  the  broad  terrace,  in  its 
space  and  majesty,  seemed  awaiting  the  splendid  tide  of  life  and 
movement  that  might  yet  pour  out  upon  it  from  the  empty  palace ; 
where  the  multitudinous  statues  stood  in  serene,  smiling  grace, 
through  all  changes  of  seasons  and  of  men ;  where  the  long,  straight 
alleys,  with  their  perfect  arch  of  shade,  stretched  away  in  appar- 
ently endless  perspective,  and  where  the  tapis  vert  was  as  much 
like  emerald  velvet  as  in  the  days  when  Louise  de  la  Valliere  and 
her  gay  companions  played  blind-man's-buff  upon  it.  But  these 
stately  pleasure-grounds  are  overwhelming  in  their  immensity, 
and  tired  nature  presently  demanded  rest.  Then  Stanhope  carried 
them  to  an  hotel,  where,  it  appeared,  he  had  already  ordered 
dejeuner  to  be  in  readiness. 

Such  interludes  are  not  the  least  pleasant  parts  of  days  like  this. 
Human  nature  grows  more  genial  when  refreshed  by  delicate 
dishes  and  inspired  by  good  wine ;  and  they  talked  and  lingered 
until  Erne  suggested  that  time  was  slipping  away.  "  We  have 
the  Trianons  yet  to  see,"  he  added. 

"Suppose  we  omit  the  Grand  Trianon,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer. 
"  There  is  so  much  in  knowing  what  not  to  see,  and  I  never 
thought  there  was  much  of  interest  there.  We  will  go  to  the 
Petit  Trianon,  which  is  full  of  the  association  of  Marie  Antoi- 
nette, and  where  one  imagines  her,  not  as  the  fated  queen, 
but  as  the  gay  young  dauphiness.  You  must  not  think  of 


84  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

her  sorrows  but  of  her  joyousness  there,"  she  added,  looking 
at  Irene. 

"But  the  joyousness  seems  to  deepen  the  gloom  of  the  sor- 
row," said  the  girl. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  as  Mrs.  Falconer  decreed.  The  Grand 
Trianon  was  omitted,  and  they  went  to  the  smaller  chateau,  filled 
with  memories  of  the  beautiful,  light-hearted  princess,  whose 
tragical  fate  stands  out  more  luridly  against  the  gay  frivolity  of 
her  youth.  The  afternoon  was  at  its  full  tide  of  brightness  when 
they  entered  the  grounds,  where,  after  the  formal  splendor  of  the 
great  park  of  Versailles,  the  eye  found  pleasant  refreshment  in 
the  graceful  grouping  of  trees  and  shrubs ;  in  the  forest  glades,  full 
of  tempered  light  and  soft  shadow ;  and  in  the  winding  paths 
leading  into  the  still  heart  of  woodland  greenness,  by  the  side  of 
the  gleaming  crystal  stream. 

"  Is  it  not  charming? "  said  Mrs.  Falconer  to  Stanhope,  as  they 
left  the  chateau  together.  "  And  those,"  she  added,  looking  at 
Irene  and  Erne,  who  were  walking  in  advance,  "make  a  charm- 
ing picture !  The  scene  is  an  idyllic  background  for  them." 

"  Very  effective ! "  said  Stanhope.  Then  he  regarded  her 
with  a  half-satirical  smile,  which  she  knew  well.  "  When  do  you 
mean  the  idyl  to  take  place  ?  "  he  inquired. 

She  could  not  help  flushing  like  one  detected  in  guilt.  "  Why 
do  you  assume  that  I  mean  it  to  take  place  at  all  ? "  she  asked. 
"  Am  I  such  a  transparent  schemer  as  that?  " 

"  You  are  a  very  transparent  schemer — to  me,"  he  answered. 
"  I  do  not  think  your  eyes  have  fallen  upon  either  of  those  young 
people  to-day,  that  I  have  not  read  your  wishes  and  intentions  in 
them.  Perhaps  it  is  as  well  that,  while  your  romance  is  still  in 
embryo,  I  should  give  you  warning  that  the  part  for  which  you 
may  cast  me  is  that  of  the  hard-hearted  guardian." 

"Are  you  in  earnest?"  she  demanded,  looking  up  at  him  as 
he  looked  cool  and  smiling  down  upon  her.  "Do  you  really 
mean  that — that  you  should  object  to  such  an  arrangement?  " 

"I  mean  exactly  that,"  he  replied.  "And  before  I  tell  you 
why  I  should  object,  you  must  let  me  say  how  much  I  am  sur- 
prised to  find  you  developing  into  a  match-maker." 

"  That  is  the  term  with  which  Aunt  Marion  tried  to  crush 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  85 

me,"  she  said.  "  But  I  am  not  to  be  crushed  by  it.  A  match- 
maker— and  why  should  not  one  be  a  match-maker,  if  the  match 
to  be  made  is  for  the  interest  of  all  parties  concerned  ?  My  opinion 
of  marriage  as  a  state  of  life  is  not  very  high ;  but  it  seems  to  me 
that  a  girl  in  the  position  of  Irene  is  decidedly  one  of  the  people 
for  whom  it  is  necessary." 

"  You  think,  then,  that  position  is  to  be  considered  rather  than 
character?  " 

"  No — that  is,  not  exactly.  You  must  acknowledge,  how- 
ever, that  matrimony  was  instituted  for  people  of  all  charac- 
ters." 

"  I  acknowledge  nothing  of  the  kind.  It  is  an  absurdity, 
which  you  would  never  advance  in  a  cooler  moment.  I  grant 
you  that  it  was  instituted,  and  is  essential,  for  the  majority  of 
the  human  race ;  but  there  is  a  considerable  minority  who  are 
manifestly  unfitted  for  the  state.  And  I  am  inclined  to  believe 
that  Irene  belongs  to  this  minority." 

"Her  mother  thinks  so,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer;  "but  you  will 
allow  that,  in  such  a  matter,  no  person  has  a  right  to  judge  for 
another." 

"  Undoubtedly  ;  and  Madame  Lescar  would,  I  am  sure,  be  the 
last  to  judge  in  a  peremptory  manner ;  but  forgive  me  if  I  say 
that  I  think  her  decided  opinion  should  at  least  prevent  your 
forming  any  matrimonial  scheme  for  her  daughter." 

"I  am  rebuked!  "  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "How  foolish  I  was 
to  betray  my  scheme  to  you!  "  she  added,  after  a  moment,  while 
her  lips  began  to  curve  into  a  smile.  "  Now  I  am  afraid  that 
you  will  not  trust  me,  nor  listen  reasonably  to  a  proposal  I  wish 
to  make." 

"  I  am  a  very  unreasonable  person,  certainly,"  he  answered ; 
"  and,  with  regard  to  my  trust  in  you,  I  confess  that  it  is  shaken. 
Nevertheless,  I  promise  to  listen  with  due  attention  to  any  pro- 
posal you  wish  to  make ;  provided,  of  course,  that  is  not  a  pro- 
posal of  marriage  on  behalf  of  Mr.  Erne." 

"  Oh,  matters  have  not  progressed  nearly  so  far  as  that,"  she 
said.  "  It  was  only  my  mind  that  dipped  into  futurity.  I  have 
no  idea  that  Lionel's  has  done  so.  And  I  will  promise  to  keep 
mine  in  order  hereafter,  if  you  will  tell  Madame  Lescar  that,  if 


86  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

she  consents  and  desires  it,  I  will  take  charge  of  her  daughter 
when — she  needs  a  home." 

There  was  a  pause.  Irene  turned  her  head  and  looked  hack 
at  them,  as  she  disappeared  with  Erne  around  a  turn  of  the  path, 
hefore  Stanhope  spoke.  At  last  he  said,  gravely : 

"  This  is  like  you — it  is  as  generous  as  it  is  kind ;  hut,  since  I 
am  responsible  for  it,  I  must  relieve  my  conscience  by  pointing 
out  that  you  may  be  bringing  a  good  deal  of  trouble  upon  your- 
self by  yielding  to  an  impulse  which  I  know  to  be  altogether  char- 
itable. Consider  that  this  girl,  however  interesting,  is  made  of 
dangerous  material." 

"  I  believe  you  regard  her  as  possessing  a  dynamic  quality," 
she  said,  laughing.  "But  I  am  not  in  the  least  afraid  of  an  ex- 
plosion, and  I  am  interested  in  her — more  interested  than  I  can 
tell  you.  She  is  so  beautiful,  so  richly  endowed,  and  she  will 
soon  be  so  pathetically  alone !  If  I  can  do  anything  for  her,  should 
I  think  of  a  little  trouble,  more  or  less  ?  All  care  for  others 
means  trouble;  but  for  that  reason  shall  we  harden  our  hearts  in 
selfish  isolation?" 

He  smiled  at  the  pleading  tone,  at  the  fair  face  turned  toward 
him  instinct  with  generous  feeling. 

"Listening  to  you,  one  would  fancy  that  you  were  asking, 
rather  than  proposing  to  bestow,  a  favor,"  he  said.  "  But,  if  you 
forget  yourself,  I  must  think  for  you,  and  I  fear  that  you  may 
be  carried  by  impulse  into  something  that  yon  would  possibly 
regret." 

"  It  is  not  merely  impulse,"  she  said.  "  I  am  more  selfish  than 
you  think  in  the  matter.  I  have  long  wanted  a  companion ;  not 
a  mere  dame  de  compagnie,  but  a  sympathetic  friend ;  one  who 
could  share  my  pursuits,  my  studies,  my  social  life.  It  seems  to 
me  that  everything  I  have  dreamed  of  I  find  in  IrSne,  with  the 
addition  of  elements  of  romance  of  which  I  never  dreamed." 

"It  is  the  elements  of  romance  which  I  dread,"  he  answered. 
41  For  Madame  Lescar's  sake,  I  am  willing  to  undertake  whatever 
is  inyolved  in  such  a  charge ;  but,  although  the  arrangement  you 
propose  would  relieve  me  immensely,  I  can  not  feel  satisfied  that 
it'should  be  made." 

"But  it  will  be  made,"  she  said.     "I  tell  you  that  I  am  re- 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  87 

solved.  That  wonderful  voice  decided  me.  Think  of  having  such 
a  voice  under  one's  roof  all  the  time!  " 

"Think  of  trying  to  play  hypocrite  to  anybody  who  knows 
you  as  well  as  I  do!  "  said  Stanhope.  "Do  you  imagine  I  will 
believe  that  you  want  the  girl  because  she  can  give  you  pleasure  ? 
If  the  truth  were  told,  I  have  no  doubt  your  resolution  was  taken 
before  you  knew  that  she  had  a  voice." 

"  Not  my  resolution  exactly,"  she  replied.  "  I  have  been  want- 
ing to  say  that  I  would  do  this  from  the  first ;  but  I  thought  I 
would  be  prudent  enough  to  satisfy  even  you.  I  would  wait — I 
would  see — I  would  judge !  And  now  that  I  have  waited,  that  I 
have  seen,  that  I  have  judged  ;  now  that,  after  calm  deliberation, 
I  have  taken  my  resolution,  you  try  to  dissuade  me,  to  disappoint 
me !  Mr.  Stanhope,  you  are  not  really  so  unkind." 

Perhaps  it  was  the  voice,  which  took  again  a  pleading  tone 
difficult  to  resist,  or  perhaps  it  was  the  thought  of  Madame  Lescar 
and  her  sad  anxiety  for  her  daughter's  future,  which  made  Stan- 
hope, after  a  moment,  answer: 

"  No.  You  must  follow  the  dictates  of  your  heart ;  and,  if  it 
costs  you  something — well,  it  is  not  immediately  that  we  look  for 
the  reward  of  any  good  action.  One  reward  you  will  certainly 
have — that  of  your  own  conscience.  And  now  " — he  smiled — 
"  that  I  have  eased  my  conscience  by  a  protest,  I  must  honestly 
say  that  your  decision  is  an  infinite  relief  to  me.  It  ends  the 
perplexity  which  has  troubled  both  Madame  Lescar  and  my- 
self, and  gives  Irene  all  that  we  could  ask  or  desire  of  protec- 
tion." 

"  Your  relief  does  not  equal  my  pleasure,"  she  said,  frankly. 
"I  feel  what  a  good  thing  it  is  to  be  rich  and  free— to  be  ac- 
countable to  nobody  for  my  actions.  I  need  not  even  ask  any 
one's  opinion :  I  can  do  exactly  and  entirely  as  I  like." 

The  smile  was  still  on  his  lips  as  he  looked  at  her.  She  had 
thrown  back  her  head  a  little,  her  color  was  raised,  her  eyes 
bright — she  seemed  to  be  exulting  in  her  freedom,  yet  it  was 
a  delicate,  tempered  exultation  which  became  her  graceful  beauty. 
Stanhope  remembered  it  afterward — the  picture  she  made,  the 
sun  striking  on  the  green  foliage  all  around  them,  with  here  and 
there  a  russet  tint,  the  still  depths  of  the  park  stretching  away 


88  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

like  a  fairy  world  of  light  and  shade,  the  stream  shining  in  its 
curves,  the  soft  blue  sky  overhead. 

"I  think,"  he  said,  "that  you  do  what  you  like  because  you 
are  made  of  the  stuff  to  do  it.  The  freedom  that  is  a  delight  to 
you  would  be  a  burden  to  a  weaker  woman.  One  can  not  blame 
vines  for  requiring  a  prop,  instead  of  standing  like  a  palm,  up- 
right, slender  and  straight.  But  I  like  palms." 

While  Irene's  fate,  in  a  partial  sense,  was  being  thus  decided 
behind  her,  she  was  walking  on  with  Erne,  so  fully  alive  to  all 
the  spell  of  the  day  and  scene,  to  every  association  of  the  spot, 
that  she  was  almost  unconscious  of  the  presence  of  her  com- 
panion. And,  although  aware  of  this  unflattering  fact,  Erne  was 
not  restive  under  it.  There  was  a  charm  in  the  girl's  indiffer- 
ence, which  was  like  a  new  flavor  to  his  mental  palate.  Then,  it 
was  almost  worth  being  ignored  to  have  such  good  opportunity  to 
watch  the  turn  of  the  white  throat,  the  lines  of  the  clear-cut  pro- 
file, to  meet  now  and  then  the  large  clear  eyes,  full  of  wistful, 
shining  light. 

"  What  do  you  see  ? "  he  asked  at  length.  "  Marie  Antoinette, 
with  her  fair  Austrian  face,  and  the  Watteau  groups  of  courtiers 
and  ladies  who  followed  her  here  to  play  at  rustic  life  ?  Is  there 
no  plant  with  which  you  could  anoint  my  eyes  that  I  might  see 
them  too? " 

She  shook  her  head,  smiling.  "  I  do  not  know  of  any  such 
plant,"  she  answered.  "  And  it  seems  to  me  that  yon  ought  not 
to  need  it— if  you  are  an  artist." 

"  You  think  that  an  artist  must  possess  the  second-sight  called 
imagination  ?  " 

"Surely,  yes,"  she  replied  with  some  surprise.  "Wnat  else 
does  it  mean  to  be  an  artist  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  it  ought  to  mean  that,"  he  said.  "  And  in  propor- 
tion as  it  does  mean  it  is  a  man  an  artist.  But  you  must  remem- 
ber that  I  am  one  in  a  very  imperfect  degree." 

"Are  you?  "  she  said.  There  was  something  prepossessing  in 
the  frank  words,  and  not  less  so  in  the  handsome  young  face  on 
which  the  sun  was  shining.  "Modesty  is  a  very  good  thing," 
she  went  on,  smiling  again,  "  and  to  think  poorly  of  yourself  and 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  89 

highly  of  art — that  is  the  secret  of  great  achievement,  is  it 
not?" 

"Perhaps  so,"  he  replied.  "Modesty,  as  you  remark,  is  a 
very  good  thing,  and  I  have  been  cultivating  it  lately.  I  have 
discovered  that  a  taste  is  not  a  passion — that  appreciation  is  not 
power.  In  feeling  I  shall  always  be  an  artist — in  execution,  I 
fear,  never." 

"  That  is  a  pity,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  which  seemed  made  to 
express  every  shade  of  feeling.  "Perhaps  you  are  mistaken — 
perhaps  you  are  only  discouraged.  One  can  not  expect  to  be- 
come a  great  artist  in  a  day." 

"Certainly  not,"  he  answered;  "but  I  don't  think  I  am 
merely  discouraged.  I  have  weighed  myself  and  found  myself 
wanting,"  said  the  young  fellow  with  honest  self-depreciation, 
yet  a  lurking  desire  not  to  be  taken  at  his  word.  "It  is  not  a 
pleasant  thing  to  realize,  mais  que  voulez-wus  f '" — shrugging  his 
shoulders  lightly  in  Gallic  fashion.  "  One  should  face  the  truth. 
And  the  truth  for  me  is  that  I  can  make  pictures,  but  I  can  not 
put  into  them  the  soul  of  genius." 

He  saw  what  quick  sympathy  the  girl  had,  when  she  looked  at 
him  now.  Surely,  eyes  speaking  so  much — so  eloquent,  so  lus- 
trous, so  kind — he  had  never  met  before !  They  brought  into  his 
mind  the  splendid  Homeric  images.  Just  such  eyes  ho  fancied 
the  goddesses,  sweeping  down  from  Olympus,  had. 

"  But  genius  is  a  rare  thing,"  said  the  sweet  voice,  "  and  if  no 
one  was  satisfied  to  fall  short  of  it,  there  would  not  be  much 
accomplished  in  the  world.  If  one  can  add  a  little  to  the  sum  of 
existing  beauty,  should  one  refuse  to  do  so  because  one  is  not 
a  Kaphael  ? " 

"Ah,  if  one  can!  "  said  he.  "But  do  you  really  think  that 
the  world  is  in  need  of  any  more  mediocre  pictures?  That  is 
hardly  the  conclusion  forced  upon  one  in  the  galleries." 

"  No,"  she  answered,  candidly.  "  There  is  certainly  no  need 
of  more  mediocre  pictures.  But  great  ones — there  is  always  need 
of  them.  And  perhaps  special  need,  since  modern  art  seems  so 
deficient  in  greatness.  When  I  go  to  the  Luxembourg,  and  think 
of  the  Vatican  or  the  Pitti  or  the  Belle  Arti— " 

"But  you  know  it  is  not  fair  to  compare  men  with  giants," 


90  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

lie  said,  rousing  a  little.  "  Art  is  the  expression,  the  outcome,  of 
the  spirit  of  its  age — and  this  age  has  not  one  but  a  thousand 
spirits.  The  air  is  full  of  the  clash  of  old  and  new  ideas.  In  such 
an  atmosphere  art  can  not  flourish.  It  needs  serenity,  and — yes — 
it  needs  faith." 

"And  you  believe  that  there  is  neither  serenity  nor  faith  to 
be  found  at  the  present  time?"  she  asked,  interested,  and  not 
having  Godwin  to  inform  her  that  what  she  heard  was  merely  an 
echo  of  the  ideas  of  other  men. 

"  I  believe  that  the  age  does  not  know  them,"  he  answered. 
"  Individual  lives  may;  but  art  is  the  expression  of  the  force  of  a 
current.  Whether  a  man  will  or  no,  the  spirit  of  his  age  tells 
upon  his  work.  It  does  not  follow  that  they  were  all  religious 
men,  those  wonderful  mediaeval  painters.  But  they  felt  around 
them  the  presence  of  intense  religious  enthusiasm ;  they  painted 
for  the  eyes  of  religious  faith,  and  they  were  inspired  by  an  at- 
mosphere of  strong,  unwavering  belief." 

It  was  pleasant  to  talk  in  this  strain  to  such  a  listener,  to  a 
face  that  responded  so  quickly,  that  expressed  assent,  doubt,  or 
denial  almost  without  the  aid  of  words.  As  they  walked  on, 
Erne  felt  that  it  would  have  been  quite  possible  to  expound  his 
theories  for  an  indefinite  length  of  time.  But  now  a  space  opened 
before  them :  here  and  there  on  the  sward  were  set  a  number  of 
picturesque  buildings— thatched  cottages,  with  deep  shade  droop- 
ing over  their  roofs,  a  silent  mill,  an  empty  dairy.  "  The  Swiss 
hameau,"  he  said. 

It  was  like  an  enchanted  world  as  they  paused  and  looked 
around.  Not  a  leaf  stirred  in  the  golden  air ;  the  placid,  shining 
water  scarcely  seemed  to  flow  under  the  bridge  that  spanned  it; 
the  glades  of  the  park  stretched  away,  full  of  sylvan  beauty.  In 
the  intense  stillness  one  listened  for  the  echo  of  laughing  voices, 
the  rustle  of  silken  skirts,  the  tread  of  dainty  feet — feet  destined 
to  mount  the  steps  of  the  guillotine. 

"Oh!"  said  Irene,  in  a  low  tone,  "how  lovely  it  is — and 
how  sad !  " 

"  Ah1  deserted  places  are  sad,"  said  Erne. 

"  There  is  more  than  the  sadness  of  desertion  here,"  she  an- 
swered. "  There  is  the  shadow  of  tragedy.  Do  you  not  feel  it 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  91 

all  the  time  under  these  trees  of  Trianon?  I  wonder  if  the  leaves 
could  have  rustled,  the  sunshine  streamed,  the  shadows  fallen 
over  the  grass,  the  day  the  queen  met  her  death  yonder  at  her 
palace-gate  in  Paris  ? " 

"  Nature  has  no  tears  to  shed  for  any  tragedy,"  replied  the 
young  man.  He  threw  back  his  head,  and  looked  up  at  the 
green  boughs,  the  limpid,  stainless  sky.  "  What  a  day !  "  he  said. 
"  Do  not  darken  it  with  the  thought  of  that  past  piteous  suffering! 
Life  is  so  short — there  are  so  many  things  that  of  necessity  mar  our 
happiness — that  we  should  not  introduce  a  single  unnecessary  one." 

"Do  you  mean  that  we  should  ignore  all  suffering — except 
our  own,  which  we  can  not  ignore?"  she  asked.  "That  would 
make  us  very  selfish." 

"  Oh,  the  poetry  of  pathos  is  an  essential  part  of  life,"  said  the 
disciple  of  sestheticism.  "  But  harsh  and  terrible  tragedy — one 
shrinks  from  the  thought  of  that  in  a  scene  like  an  embodied 
pastoral." 

"  But  it  happened!  "  said  the  girl,  in  a  low  voice.  To  her,  at 
that  moment,  it  was  real  beyond  expression — all  the  long  martyr- 
dom of  agony,  and  the  moment  of  final  release,  when  the  fair 
royal  head  fell  under  the  axe.  She  could  not  introduce  it  merely 
as  a  pathetic,  poetic  adjunct  to  the  beauty  around.  Her  cheek 
grew  pale,  her  eyes  gathered  back  their  wistful  sadness — a  sad- 
ness which  had  dissolved  into  a  mist  of  tears  when  she  stood 
before  the  lovely  picture  of  the  boy-Dauphin,  painted  by  Lebrun, 
in  the  boudoir  of  the  Petit  Trianon.  To  Erne,  although  he  depre- 
cated it,  there  was  something  in  this  intense  sympathy,  this  pas- 
sionate realization  of  things  wholly  beyond  the  circle  of  personal 
knowledge  or  interest — a  circle  which  proves  an  insurmountable 
barrier  to  most  of  the  world — which  was  very  charming,  though 
he  felt  that  such  a  nature  was  not  formed  for  happiness.  It  was 
interesting,  however,  it  was  spirituelle,  it  promised  to  the  ses- 
thetic  mind  much  more  gratification  than  is  to  be  obtained  from 
the  contemplation  of  anything  so  commonplace  as  happiness. 

They  were  rapidly  becoming  very  well  acquainted  as  they 
wandered  about  the  hamlet;  peered  through  the  closed  casements 
into  empty  rooms;  looked  in  the  dairy  at  the  marble  slabs,  where 
fair  hands  had  played  at  butter-making ;  saw  the  picturesque  mill 


92  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

reflected  in  the  glassy  water,  where  swans  were  slowly  sailing  to 
and  fro ;  and  finally  paused  on  the  bridge,  under  which  flowed  the 
stream  along  which  their  path  had  lain. 

"  It  is  like  a  pastoral,"  said  Irene;  "  but  a  Watteau  pastoral — 
fit  for  a  court  in  masquerade.  It  is  a  scene  to  suggest  pictures 
and  poems — a  whole  world  of  dramatic  possibilities.  What 
charming  figures  one  sees  coming  along  the  glades,  or  crossing  the 
sward  yonder — some  joyous,  some  agitated;  and  then,  you  know, 
one  begins  to  imagine  all  the  causes  of  the  joy  and  the  agitation. 
It  is  difficult  to  stop  in  such  fancies,"  she  broke  off,  with  a  smile. 

"  No  doubt  it  is — to  you,"  said  Erne.  "And  I  suppose  you 
often  find  suggestion  for  them  ?  " 

" Continually,"  she  answered.  "Sometimes  it  torments  me. 
I  should  like  to  be  more— how  do  you  call  it? — matter-of-fact! 
Why,  I  never  see  a  figure  passing  down  a  road — especially  if  it  be 
lonely,  and  with  a  sunset  sky  beyond — that  I  do  not  dream  out  a 
destiny  for  it." 

"It  is  no  wonder  that  you  sing  as  you  do,"  he  said.  And 
then  he  added,  "I  wish  you  would  sing— one  song — for  me 
now." 

"  But  what  would  be  appropriate  ? "  she  asked,  with  perfect 
simplicity  and  readiness  to  oblige.  "  One  should  not  sing  any- 
thing at  the  Trianon.  It  ought  to  be  something  associated  with 
the  past — with  the  old  court  life.  Ah,  I  know  what  it  shall 
bel  Do  you  know  this  ballad  of  the  Cardinal  Due  de  Rohan? " 

Then  in  a  low,  soft  voice  she  began  to  sing: 

" '  Ton  souvenir  est  toujours  1&, 

0  toi,  qui  nc  peut  plus  m'entendre, 
Toi  qui  j'aimais  d'amour  si  tendre, 
Jamais  mon  coeur  ne  t'oubliera. 
Toujours  presente  a  ma  pensee, 

Ma  voix  sans  cesse  redira 
Douceur  d'amour  trop  tot  passed, 
Ton  souvenir  cst  toujours  la.' " 

It  is  simple  in  melody,  this  strain  which  has  been  wafted 
down  to  us  from  the  ancien  regime,  but  there  is  tenderness  as 
well  as  grace  in  it,  a  fragrance  like  the  faint  odor  of  faded  roses. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  93 

It  seemed  to  summon  back  all  the  stately  and  beautiful  past, 
all  those  courtly  shades  of  which  the  girl  had  been  dreaming.  The 
thrill  of  her  voice  told  Erne  how  her  thoughts  were  with  that 
life,  so  full  of  picturesque  splendor  and  elaborate  social  art,  yet 
when  eyes  shone  and  lips  smiled  and  hearts  beat  even  as  they  do 
to-day.  The  sun  was  sinking  low  in  the  sky,  the  shadows  were 
stretching  long  over  the  turf,  the  windows  of  the  Swiss  houses, 
catching  the  light,  gleamed  as  if  from  radiant  fires  within,  the 
swans  were  sailing  on  a  glorified  expanse  of  water.  It  was  one 
of  the  enchanted  moments  of  life  which  end  too  soon. 

Several  hours  later,  evening  had  fallen  over  the  great  city,  the 
beautiful  day  had  melted  into  a  mild,  clear  night,  the  sky  thick- 
set with  stars,  which  looked  serenely  down  on  the  lines  of  flash- 
ing light  along  the  wide  Boulevards,  the  brilliant  shops,  the 
hurrying  crowds,  the  sparkling  cafes,  as  Stanhope  and  Erne 
drove  together  from  the  railway-station.  "  It  has  been  a  delight- 
ful day.  Thank  you,  and  good-night,"  Mrs.  Falconer  had  said, 
when  they  parted.  She  looked  a  little  tired ;  but  Irene's  radiance 
was  still  undimmed.  Her  eyes  were  shining  like  stars  under  the 
great  dark-plumed  hat,  when  she,  too,  said  good-night,  and  was 
borne  away  by  the  eager  horses  and  impatient  coachman.  Then 
the  two  young  men  called  a  cab,  and  were  jolting  together  over 
the  stones,  when  Erne  said,  abruptly  : 

"  Do  yon  remember  Matthew  Arnold's  '  Urania '  ?  Mademoi- 
selle Lescar  has  kept  the  first  verse  of  it  running  through  my 
mind  all  day."  Then,  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  he  began  to 
quote : 

" '  She  smiles  and  smiles,  and  will  not  sigh, 

While  we  for  hopeless  passion  die ; 

Yet  she  could  love,  those  eyes  declare, 

Were  men  but  nobler  than  they  are.' " 

"  So,  she  will  not  sigh !  "  said  Stanhope,  with  a  laugh.  "  My 
dear  fellow,  if  there  were  any  good  in  warnings,  I  should  be 
tempted  to  offer  you  one.  I  should  be  tempted  to  say:  Don't 
fancy  yourself  in  love  with  Irene  Lescar  1  She  could  easily  turn 
what  has  been  amusement  with  you  hitherto  into  uncomfortable 


94  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

earnest — but,  however  much  you  might  die  with  hopeless  passion, 
I  doubt  if  you  would  waken  any  response  in  those  eyes  of  hers. 
They  are  filled  with  the  light  of  imagination— the  light  that  will 
hardly  suffer  her  to  find  her  ideal  among  the  sons  of  men." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

IT  would  be  difficult  to  imagine  a  greater  relief  than  that 
which  Mrs.  Falconer's  resolution  with  regard  to  Irene  brought 
to  Stanhope's  mind.  Where  the  girl  was  to  be  placed  in  the 
event  of  her  mothers  death,  had  troubled  him  scarcely  less  tban 
it  troubled  Madame  Lescar,  and  that  the  difficulty  should  be 
solved  in  such  a  manner  was  as  agreeable  as  it  was  unexpected. 
He  had  foreseen,  from  the  beginning  of  Mrs.  Falconer's  interest  in 
the  mother  and  daughter,  that  she  would  be  of  great  assistance  to 
him ;  but,  well  as  he  knew  her,  he  had  not  ventured  to  expect 
such  assistance  as  this — realizing  how  far  it  would  be  from  the 
inclination  of  many  a  beautiful  woman  to  place  near  herself  a 
woman  more  beautiful,  and  from  that  of  most  worldly  women  to 
assume  the  responsibility  of  protecting  one  who  had  no  worldly 
influence  or  rank.  "  But  she  is  not  like  other  women,"  he  said  to 
himself.  "  She  is  sui  generis,  and  deserves  all  the  admiration  and 
confidence  that  one  can  give  her." 

In  this  pleasant  frame  of  mind  he  went,  the  day  after  the  Ver- 
sailles expedition,  to  tell  his  news  to  Madame  Lescar.  As  he 
entered  the  gate  of  the  house  on  the  Avenue  du  Bois  de  Boulogne, 
he  met  Irene  and  Nathalie  just  issuing  forth. 

"  Bon  jour,  M.  Stanhope,"  said  the  girl,  putting  out  her  hand. 
"  You  have  come  to  see  mamma,  and,  fortunately,  she  has  just 
taken  her  dejeuner,  and  is  able  to  see  you.  Be  sure  to  tell  her 
what  a  delightful  day  we  spent  yesterday.  She  has  asked  many 
questions  about  it,  and  seems  pleased  to  hear  all  that  I  can  tell." 

"And  that  is  a  great  deal,  I  have  no  doubt,"  he  said,  "for 
I  think  you  enjoyed  the  day." 

"  I  am  sure  you  know  that  I  did,"  she  answered.  "  But  let 
Nathalie  take  you  np  to  mamma.  I  will  wait  for  her  here." 

It  occurred  to  him  to  wonder  if  she  had  a  thought  apart  from 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  95 

her  mother ;  but  he  accepted  his  dismissal,  and  followed  Nathalie 
across  the  court-yard,  up  the  stairs,  and  into  the  presence  of 
Madame  Lescar,  who  was  lying  on  a  sofa  in  the  salon.  She  made 
no  attempt  to  rise,  but  held  out  her  hand  to  him.  with  a  smile  of 
welcome,  sweet  and  cordial  as  her  smiles  always  were. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,"  she  said.  "I  was  thinking  of 
you  when  I  heard  your  step,  thinking  that  I  would  write  to  you 
if  you  did  not  come  to-day." 

"  I  am  delighted  to  appear  so  opportunely,"  he  said.  "What 
is  it  that  you  wish  of  me  ?  " 

He  sat  down  as  he  spoke,  and  she  looked  at  him  with  the  ex- 
pression of  trustful  reliance  which  always  touched  him  peculiarly. 

"I  wish,"  she  answered,  "to  say  that  I  have  suffered  much 
lately,  and  I  think  that  whatever  is  to  be  done  should  not  be  de- 
layed. Are  the  papers  ready  for  my  signature  ?  " 

"  They  will  be  ready  to-morrow,"  he  replied.  "  You  have 
only  to  appoint  an  hour,  when  I  can  attend  you  with  the  no- 
tary." 

"  This  is  a  good  hour,"  she  said.  "If  you  will  come  at  this 
time  to  morrow,  I  shall  be  ready  to  receive  you." 

"  I  will  come,"  he  said.  "  Consider  that  the  matter  is  settled, 
and  let  me  have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  your  mind  is  at 
rest." 

"If  you  could  know  how  much!"  she  said.  "I  am  giving 
you  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  but  if  you  could  realize  what  your 
kindness  is  to  me,  I  am  sure  you  would  be  repaid." 

"  Do  you  think  that  I  need  to  be  repaid  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Are 
you  not  aware  that  it  gives  me  happiness  to  be  of  service  to  you  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it,"  she  answered,  "  and  therefore  I  have  not 
hesitated  to  ask  very  much  of  you.  Ah,  not  a  word  I  "  she  said, 
putting  her  slender,  transparent  hand  down  upon  his.  "I  know 
what  I  have  asked — I  know  what  a  responsibility  I  have  laid 
upon  you." 

"  I  hope,"  he  said,  "  that  it  may  be  long  before  I  am  called 
upon  to  assume  that  responsibility.  But  I  have  to  tell  you  that 
your  mind  may  also  be  at  rest  witb  regard  to  something  that  has 
troubled  you  about  your  daughter — the  question  of  a  home — of 
social  guardianship — " 


96  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  lifting  herself  eagerly,  "that  has  troubled  ine 
greatly.  "What  have  you  to  suggest?" 

"I  have  to  tell  you,"  he  answered,  "that  Mrs.  Falconer  has 
empowered  me  to  say  that,  if  you  desire  it,  she  will  take  Irene 
under  her  care.  I  do  not  think  you  could  ask  anything  better  for 
her  than  that." 

"Nothing!  "  she  replied,  in  a  low,  fervent  tone — "nothing!  " 

She  sank  hack  on  her  pillows,  and  closed  her  eyes  for  a  mo- 
ment. Then  she  lifted  the  lids  again,  and  looked  at  him  with  a 
glance  full  of  grateful  brightness. 

"  It  is  to  you  that  I  owe  this,"  she  said.  "  How  can  I  thank 
you  ? " 

"  You  must  not  thank  me  at  all,"  he  answered,  "for  it  is  not 
to  me  that  you  owe  either  your  daughter's  attractiveness  or  Mrs. 
Falconer's  kindness." 

"I  owe  it  to  you  that  I  ever  heard  of  Mrs.  Falconer,"  she  said, 
"  and  I  suspect  that  I  owe  to  you  also  the  suggestion  of  an  ar- 
rangement which  is  better  than  I  could  have  dared  to  hope  for." 

"  No,"  he  insisted,  "  you  do  not.  I  may  have  entertained  a 
faint  hope  of  something  of  the  kind ;  but  I  never  suggested  it — 
even  indirectly.  The  proposal  came  spontaneously  from  Mrs. 
Falconer  herself." 

"  This,  then,  is  what  she  meant  when  she  said  that,  as  far  as 
her  friendship  could  shield  Irene,  she  should  not  be  left  alone. 
Surely,  I  did  well  to  feel  that  she  is  a  woman  to  trust." 

"  I  do  not  think  that  a  truer  heart  exists — nor  a  more  generous 
nature,"  said  Stanhope.  "  And  everything  seems  to  combine  to 
fit  her  for  this  trust.  There  are  the  ties  of  country  and  of  he- 
reditary friendship,  besides  the  great  advantages  of  wealth  and 
high  station." 

"And  the  fact,"  said  Madame  Lescar,  "that  she  has  sufficient 
seniority  to  give  her  influence  over  Irene,  but  not  enough  to  de- 
stroy the  sympathy  of  youth.  It  almost  seems  as  if  the  arrange- 
ment is  too  perfect — too  much  all  that  I  could  desire.  There 
must  be  a  flaw  somewhere."  She  paused  a  moment,  then 
added,  "  Mrs.  Falconer  is  young  and  beautiful — may  she  not 
marry  ?  " 

"It  is  possible,  certainly,"  replied  Stanhope;  "but  I  do  not 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  97 

think  probable.  As  far  as  I  am  able  to  judge,  Mrs.  Falconer 
thinks  of  nothing  so  little  as  of  resigning  the  freedom  which  Fate 
has  restored  to  her.  Of  coarse,  the  world  does  not  credit  this. 
There  is  no  more  obstinate  hallucination  fixed  in  the  minds  of 
mankind  than  the  idea  that  every  man  or  woman  who  is  single 
must  desire  to  be  married.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner may  not  eventually  make  a  marriage  that  would  give  her 
higher  position,  wider  opportunities  in  life — but  I  am  sure  that 
she  has  no  immediate  thoughts  of  it." 

"  Is  she  ambitious  ?  I  had  hoped — I  had  thought  perhaps  that 
you — " 

He  made  a  gesture  which  stopped  her.  "  Et  tu  Brute  f"  ho 
said,  half  laughing.  "I  fancied  that  you  knew  mo  better;  Mrs. 
Falconer  does,  at  any  rate.  We  understand  each  other,  we  are 
the  best,  the  frankest  friends — and  some  day  when  she  may  be 
madame  la  duchesse  or  madame  1'ambassadrice,  I  shall  still  havo 
ray  familiar  corner  in  her  salon,  like  Chateaubriand  in  that  of 
Madame  Eecamier." 

"The  comparison  is  damaging  to  your  case,"  she  said, smiling, 
"  for  Chateaubriand  was  lover,  not  friend." 

"Friendship  for  such  a  woman  must  partake  somewhat  of  the 
character  of  love,"  he  answered,  "  but  a  great  difference  lies  in  the 
fact  that  it  is  less  selfish.  A  friend  does  not  desire  to  monopo- 
lize :  a  lover  always  desires  to  do  so." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "love  is  almost  invariably  selfish ;  and  for 
that  reason  I  hope  that  you  are  right,  that  Mrs.  Falconer  will  be 
content  with  her  present  freedom — at  least  until  Irene  has  suffi- 
cient age  and  experience  to  decide  upon  her  future.  That  future 
is  something  of  which  I  can  not  permit  myself  to  think,"  she 
added,  with  the  shadow  of  pain  falling  over  her  face.  "  I  can — I 
must — trust  God." 

The  next  day,  according  to  his  promise,  Stanhope  brought  the 
notary,  and,  after  her  business  arrangements  had  been  completed, 
a  calm  of  spirit  settled  upon  Madame  Lescar,  which  in  its  result 
upon  her  health  had  the  appearance  of  improvement.  "  I  am 
ready  now  for  Death,"  she  said :  but,  because  she  was  ready, 
Death  seemed  to  draw  back  and  lower  his  leveled  dart.  She 
grew  stronger  instead  of  weaker,  and  a  few  days  later  Irene  said 
5 


98  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

to  Mrs.  Falconer  joyously,  "Mamma  is  certainly  better — much 
better." 

"  There  is  undoubtedly  a  great  improvement,"  said  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner, who  had  herself  observed  it,  and  who  could  hardly  believe 
•what  the  doctor  suid  to  Stanhope :  "  It  is  a  mere  fluctuation  of 
the  disease — a  flicker  of  the  candle." 

"  I  have  not  seen  her  so  much  better  for  a  long  time — not  for 
nearly  five  months,"  the  girl  went  on.  "If  she  continues  to  im- 
prove so  rapidly,  we  may  leave  Paris  before  long  and  go  back  to 
Italy." 

"  Ton  would  be  glad  of  that  ?  " 

"  Who  would  not  be  glad  to  return  to  Italy  ?  I  am  like  Mignon 
— my  heart  is  always  there.  But  still,  if  it  were  better  for  mam- 
ma to  be  here — or  anywhere  else — I  should  be  satisfied  never  to 
see  it  again." 

"Poor  child!"  thought  Mrs.  Falconer,  as  she  had  thought 
often  before.  "But  I  must  not  waste  time,"  she  said,  aloud,  "for 
do  you  know  what  I  am  here  at  this  untimely  hour  for?  " — it  was 
not  more  than  eleven  o'clock. — "  It  is  to  take  you  to  the  Chapelle 
Expiatoiro.  Have  you  forgotten  that  this  is  the  anniversary  of 
the  death  of  Marie  Antoinette,  and  that  when  we  were  at  Ver- 
sailles I  promised  to  go  with  you  to  the  Chapelle  to-day  ?  " 

"  I  scarcely  expected  you  to  remember  it,"  said  the  girl,  with 
pleased,  grateful  eyes.  "How  very  kind  you  are!  I  will  get 
ready  at  once." 

A  few  minutes  later  they  were  driving  around  the  Place  do 
1'Etoile,  down  the  Avenue  Friedland,  and  into  the  Boulevard 
Ilaussmann,  where  the  carriage  stopped  at  the  gate  of  the  Chapelle. 
It  is  a  quiet  spot  ordinarily,  although  around  it  the  great  life  of 
Paris  surges  in  restless  tide — only  a  few  tonnes  and  children  gen- 
erally sit  under  the  trees  of  the  small  green  square,  or  walk  along 
its  paths.  But  twice  a  year — on  the  anniversaries  of  the  death 
of  the  king  and  of  the  queen — this  is  changed.  Then  carriages 
throng  about  its  gates,  and  all  day  long  a  quiet,  respectful  crowd 
pours  into  the  building.  One  who  watches  this  crowd  may  see 
bearers  of  the  oldest  and  noblest  names  of  France,  men  who  are 
descendants  of  the  Crusaders,  delicate  high-born  women,  and 
mingled  with  these  now  and  then,  some  of  the  lower  orders. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  99 

But  never  the  middle  class — be  sure  the  bourgeois  does  not  go  to 
the  Chapelle  Expiatoire !  It  would  be  wiser  to  expect  to  draw- 
blood  from  a  stone  than  to  find  the  beautiful  virtue  of  loyalty  in 
the  breast  of  a  roturier.* 

"  I  came  here  once  before — on  the  anniversary  of  the  death 
of  the  king,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  as  they  walked  up  to  the  door 
of  the  vestibule,  into  which  a  stream  of  people  was  pouring. 
"But  I  found  it  impossible  to  enter  the  chapel,  the  crowd  was  so 
great — and  that  notwithstanding  masses  are  said  every  half-hour 
from  seven  o'clock  until  noon.  You  see  it  is  a  profession  of  faith 
to  be  here — and  look  at  that !  " 

What  she  indicated  were  two  large  baskets  filled  to  overflow- 
ing with  cards.  "  Those  are  sent  to  the  Comte  do  Chambord," 
she  said.  "  If  anything  could  cheer  the  heart  of  an  exiled  king, 
it  ought  to  be  such  proofs  of  devotion,  when  we  consider  how 
this  wretched  human  nature  of  ours  is  prone  to  turn  from  what 
is  fallen  and  worship  only  risen  suns. — And  that  is  to  be  sent  to 
Frohsdorf  also,  rfest-ce  pas  ?  "  she  asked  of  a  man  who  stood  be- 
hind a  table  where  lay  a  large  open  volume,  on  the  pages  of  which 
a  number  of  names  were  inscribed. 

"  Oui,  madame"  he  answered.  "  Will  madame  inscribe  her 
name  ?  "  he  added,  offering  a  pen. 

"Why  not?"  she  said,  with  a  smile  to  Irene.  "It  will  tell 
the  Comte  de  Chambord  nothing,  except,  perhaps,  that  he  has  the 
best  wishes  of  two  strangers — for  I  shall  write  yours  also,  shall  I 
not?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Irdne,  with  all  her  heart  in  the  soft  music  of 
her  voice.  "I  surely  hope  that  he  may  yet  'have  his  own 
again.' " 

The  words,  though  spoken  in  English,  were  heard  and  evi- 
dently understood  by  a  gentleman  at  that  moment  approaching, 
for  he  looked  quickly  and  with  interest  at  the  speaker.  Then  his 
glance  fell  on  the  lady  who  was  writing,  and  when  Mrs.  Falconer 
laid  down  her  pen,  she  found  herself  face  to  face  with  the  Mar- 
quis de  Chateaumesnil. 

*  Since  this  was  written  the  demolition  of  the  Chapelle  has  been  decreed 
by  the  existing  government  of  France — a  fresh  proof  of  the  vandalism  and 
intolerance  which  are  practiced  in  the  name  of  liberty ! 


100  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"  This  is  an  unexpected  pleasure,"  he  said,  with  a  smile  in  his 
dark  eyes  which  proved  that  the  words  were  no  mere  form  of  ex- 
pression. "  I  am  delighted  to  see  you  here,  madame ;  and  still 
more  delighted  that  you  are  sending  your  name  to  the  king." 

"  Do  you  not  know  that  I  am  an  adherent,  or  at  least  a  well- 
wisher,  of  Henri  Cinq  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Though  I  confess  it  is  not 
that  which  has  brought  me  here,  hut  the  desire  of  my  young 
friend  Mademoiselle  Lescar  to  see  the  Chapelle,  and  to  see  it  es- 
pecially to-day." 

The  Marquis  turned  to  Irene  with  a  how.  "  I  had  the  pleas- 
ure of  hearing  mademoiselle  express  a  sentiment  a  moment  ago, 
for  which  I  am  glad  to  be  able  to  thank  her,"  he  said. 

"  What  was  the  sentiment — that  she  hoped  the  king  would 
'  have  his  own  again '  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  Ah,  we  all  hope 
that — but  hopes,  unfortunately,  do  not  count  for  much. — Irene, 
let  me  present  the  Marquis  do  Chateaumesnil. — And  now,  M.  le 
Marquis,  do  you  think  that  in  return  for  our  sympathy  you  can 
get  us  within  the  Chapelle  ?  " 

"I  do  not  think  there  is  any  doubt  of  it,"  answered  the  Mar- 
quis ;  "  but  we  shall  probably  have  to  wait  until  the  mass  at  pres- 
ent being  said  is  over." 

They  passed  on,  and  found  themselves  in  the  raised,  oblong 
court,  with  cloistral  arches  on  each  side,  which  lies  between  the 
vestibule  and  the  chapel.  Here,  ranged  in  serried  order,  are  the 
tombs  of  the  Swiss  guard — the  brave  men  who  died  fighting  on 
the  stairs  of  the  Tuileries,  knowing  well  that  the  struggle  was 
vain,  yet  ready  to  be  slaughtered  rather  than  betray  their  trust. 
It  was  plain  that  the  mere  sight  of  these  memorials  touched  Ir£ne 
like  a  strain  of  heroic  music.  Mrs.  Falconer  saw  the  quick  light 
in  her  eyes,  and  asked  of  what  she  was  thinking. 

"  Only  how  appropriate  it  is  that  these  should  be  here,"  she 
answered.  "  It  seems  as  if  they  are  still  a  guard — in  death  as  in 
life.  It  reminds  one  of  Schiller's  line : 

'As  sleeps  a  soldier  on  the  shield  he  would  not  quit.' " 

"  I  think,"  said  the  Marquis,  with  another  glance  of  interest 
at  the  kindling  face,  "  that  looking  at  these  tombs  one  realizes 
forcibly  how  much  better  a  noble  death  is  than  an  unworthy  life. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  101 

They  might  easily  have  saved  their  lives  for  a  time,  those  soldiers ; 
but,  in  such  case,  who  would  know  of  them  now  ? — while  as  it  is, 
their  name  is  the  synonym  for  courage  and  faithfulness,  the  most 
glorious  of  virtues." 

Talking  in  this  way,  they  stood.  The  inclosura  was  filled  with 
people,  waiting  their  opportunity  to  enter  the  chapel,  which  was 
crowded  to  overflowing.  On  the  steps  a  silent  throng  held  their 
places,  but  scattered  about  the  court  were  various  knots  and  groups 
engaged  in  conversation.  "With  most  of  these,  the  Marquis  ex- 
changed salutations,  and  many  curious  glances  were  cast  on  the 
beautiful  women  whom  he  attended.  Mrs.  Falconer,  however, 
recognized  a  few  acquaintances,  for  her  social  lines  extended  even 
into  the  exclusive  Faubourg ;  and  she  turned  now  and  then  to 
whisper  to  Irene  the  name  of  some  distinguished  man,  or  of  some 
graceful,  high-bred  woman. 

Altogether,  it  was  a  scene  which,  as  a  prelude  to  what  awaited 
them  within  the  chapel,  touched  Irene  in  a  manner  only  possible 
to  a  poetic  nature.  The  soft  autumn  sky  overhead,  the  caressing 
breath  of  the  autumn  air,  with  the  light,  fitful  breezes  which  now 
and  then  sent  showers  of  yellow  leaves  fluttering  from  the  trees, 
all  seemed  full  of  the  suggestion  of  that  other  day  when  the  death- 
cart  rolled  into  the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  and  a  woman,  whose 
hair  had  grown  gray  with  agony,  looked  toward  the  place  where 
she  had  reigned,  and  bade  farewell  to  earth.  If  the  tragedy  had 
seemed  real  to  the  girl  under  the  trees  of  the  Trianon,  how  much 
more  real  did  it  seem  in  this  spot — once  the  obscure  burial-ground 
where  the  bodies  of  the  king  and  queen  were  thrust  into  the  earth, 
now  a  shrine  of  expiation ! 

"  One  sees  here  how  strong  the  Legitimist  feeling  is  in  France," 
she  thought,  looking  at  the  crowd  which  filled  the  court,  the  dense 
throng  within  the  chapel.  All  that  is  best  in  unhappy  France  was 
indeed  represented  there — the  element  which  recognizes  the  great 
principle  of  authority  in  the  temporal,  as  in  the  spiritual,  order  to 
be  the  sole  hope  of  stability  in  either ;  but  even  to  a  girl,  with  no 
knowledge  of  the  troubled  affairs  of  states,  an  instinct  was  borne 
that  it  was  too  high  an  element  to  leaven  the  great  mass  of  igno- 
rance, swayed  by  passion  and  cupidity.  And  something  like  this 
she  heard  the  Marquis  say  a  moment  later  to  Mrs.  Falconer. 


102  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"No,  I  am  not  sanguine,"  he  said,  in  answer  to  some  remark 
of  hers.  "  I  can  not  permit  myself  to  be  blinded  by  hope.  Things 
must  grow  worse— much  worse — before  they  can  grow  better. 
Men  must  learn  where  the  tide  of  revolution  will  carry  them." 

"  Do  you,  like  Mr.  Godwin,  look  for  a  terrible  consummation 
to  the  present  state  of  affairs  ? "  she  asked. 

"  I  look,"  he  answered,  "for  a  flood  that  will  sweep  away  the 
whole  existing  fabric  of  social  order.  After  it  has  passed,  I  know 
not  what  will  remain — except  that  one  ark  will  be  found  floating 
upon  the  waters." 

His  tone  and  manner  surprised  Mrs.  Falconer  exceedingly. 
There  was  a  gravity  and  depth  of  feeling  in  them  which  was  as 
far  as  possible  from  what  she  had  imagined  of  the  man  she  had 
conceived  him  to  be.  "  After  all,  Mr.  Stanhope  may  be  right," 
she  thought,  "  and  I  have  read  him  superficially." 

A  little  later  they  succeeded  in  entering  the  chapel,  where  one 
crowd  had  given  place  to  another  as  dense. 

To  Irene  it  was  an  impressive  scene.  The  bowed,  silent  throng 
of  people  extending  to  the  verge  of  the  sanctuary,  where,  amid 
starry  lights  and  silver  lilies,  the  final  mass  was  being  said;  the 
heavy  black  draperies,  the  multitudes  of  wreaths  and  crosses,  the 
statues  of  the  king  and  queen  at  opposite  ends  of  the  chapel,  re- 
lieved against  the  dark  background,  and  telling  their  piteous  story 
to  the  gaze  and  heart  of  the  youngest  child  present ;  the  last  words 
of  each — the  will  of  the  king,  the  letter  of  the  queen  to  Madame 
Elisabeth — inscribed  upon  the  pedestals  in  letters  of  gold — all 
seemed  to  her  full  of  the  most  noble  pathos.  They  were  near  the 
statue  of  the  queen,  and,  looking  up  at  the  kneeling  form  to  which 
a  shrouded  figure  is  presenting  a  cross,  she  had  a  brief  knowledge 
of  that  exaltation  of  feeling — not  for  long  possible  to  weak  human 
nature— in  which  we  recognize  the  divine  office  of  suffering,  even 
in  its  most  awful  forms.  Truly  she  drank  the  bitter  cup  to  its 
dregs,  that  fair,  pampered  child  of  imperial  fortune — but  who 
can  read  those  last  words  from  the  gloomy  cell  of  the  Conciergerie, 
without  feeling  that  anguish  had  borne  heroic  fruit,  and  that  the 
daughter  of  kings  had  risen  to  be  the  daughter  of  martyrs? 

Great  sorrows  are  great  lessons  to  those  who  will  heed  them. 
And  the  girl  whose  life  had  been  so  early  shadowed  by  wrong, 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  103 

and  whose  heart  was  now  torn  by  the  fear  of  desolation,  felt  as  if 
for  a  little  time  she  gained  a  height  where  both  wrong  and  desola- 
tion were  more  endurable.  "  Look  at  me !  "  said  the  beautiful, 
agonized  face  of  the  murdered  queen.  "  Of  my  splendors  and  my 
sufferings  what  remains  to  me  but  the  merits  gained  by  the  last?  " 
And  then  the  solemn  voice  at  the  altar  said,  "  Oremus  !  " 

Afterward  Irene  wondered  if  this  scene,  with  all  the  thoughts 
and  feelings  which  it  suggested,  was  in  some  manner  a  preparation 
for  what  lay  before  her.  Certainly  she  had  rarely  been  more 
deeply  stirred.  It  was  a  face  still  pale  with  emotion,  on  which 
the  soft  sunshine  fell,  when  she  presently  emerged  from  the 
chapel,  and  with  her  companions  walked  across  the  court.  She 
hardly  heard  them  as  they  talked,  and  she  was  not  aware  when 
they  paused  to  read  an  inscription.  She  walked  on  toward  the 
vestibule ;  and,  looking  after  her,  the  Marquis  said  : 

"  Mademoiselle  Lescar  seems  deeply  impressed.  May  I  ask  if 
she  is  French  ?  " 

"  By  descent  only,"  answered  Mrs.  Falconer,  glad  of  a  loop- 
hole of  evasion.  "  She  is  a  yonng  compatriot  of  mine — one  who 
is  full  of  imagination  and  sensitiveness." 

"  She  has  a  striking  face,"  he  said. 

"  It  ia  very  beautiful,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer. 

"  Ah,  beauty  is  common  beside  such  spirituelle  expression," 
said  the  Marquis,  who,  like  most  of  his  countrymen,  ranked  ex- 
pression before  perfection  of  feature. 

There  was  time  for  no  more.  Irene  had  paused  in  the  door 
to  wait  for  them,  and  when  they  joined  her  there  were  not  many 
steps  to  be  taken  to  the  carriage.  After  they  were  seated  in  this, 
Mrs.  Falconer,  as  if  with  a  sudden  thought,  said  to  the  Marquis: 

"Do  you  know  that  Lady  Falconer  is  in  Paris,  and  with  me 
at  present?" 

"otfo,  I  was  not  aware  of  it,"  he  replied,  with  a  slight  air  of 
surprise.  "  But  I  have  been  out  of  Paris  for  nearly  a  week  until 
to-day.  May  I  beg  you  to  make  my  compliments  to  my  cousin, 
and  say  that  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her  very  soon — 
this  evening,  if  you  will  permit  me  ?  " 

"  I  am  sorry  that  wo  are  engaged  this  evening,"  she  answered. 
"  But  can  you  not  dine  with  us  to-morrow  ?  " 


104  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"  I  shall  be  delighted  to  do  so,"  he  replied. 
"  Then  au  revoir.     Our  last  words  are,  Vive  Henri  Cinq ! — 
are  they  not,  Irene  ?  " 

Irene  bowed  and  smiled,  the  Marquis  lifted  his  hat,  and  the 
carriage  drove  away.  There  was  silence  in  it  for  a  moment  or 
two,  when  the  girl  laid  her  hand  lightly  on  that  of  her  companion, 
as  she  said : 

"  Thank  you  for  taking  me  there  to-day.  I  have  liked  it  so 
much — so  very  much." 

"  Felt  it  too  much,  I  am  afraid,"  answered  Mrs.  Falconer, 
with  a  glance  at  her  face.  "  Your  eyes  are  as  sad  as  if  you  had 
been  to  the  execution  of  the  queen!  My  dear  child,  what  is  to 
become  of  you  if  you  go  through  life  responding  in  this  manner 
to  every  touch  upon  your  spirit  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  tell  ?  "  asked  Irene.  "  But  was  it  not  like  a  poem 
of  loyalty  and  faith  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  was  very  touching — the  more  because  it  was  so  genu- 
ine, and  genuine  things  are  rare — as  rare  as  disinterested  ones. 
No  man  or  woman  there  could  serve  any  selfish  end  by  going — 
many  of  them,  indeed,  like  the  Marquis  de  Chateaumesnil,  have 
given  up  much,  have  sacrificed  ambition  to  loyalty." 

"Is  that  what  he  has  done?"  asked  the  girl,  with  a  quick 
glance.  "  I  am  not  surprised ;  I  liked  his  face." 

If  Mrs.  Falconer  had  followed  her  impulse  she  would  have 
said,  "  And  he  liked  yours."  But  she  was  too  wise  a  woman  for 
that.  She  only  smiled,  and  answered  much  as  she  had  answered 
the  Marquis,  "  It  is  a  handsome  face." 

"Yes,  but  that  is  not  what  I  meant,"  replied  Irene,  putting 
aside  the  statement  as  the  Marquis  had  put  aside  that  of  her 
beauty.  "  It  is  a  face  that  seems  full  of  distinction  and  power.  It 
reminds  me  of  some  of  the  historical  portraits  we  saw  the  other 
day  at  Versailles — calm,  high-bred,  intellectual  faces,  with  dark, 
inscrutable  eyes." 

"  That  is  not  remarkable,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  They  may 
have  been  his  .ancestors.  It  is,  at  least,  the  same  type.  And  Mr. 
Stanhope  thinks  that  the  Marquis  has  powers  that  under  other 
circumstances  would  make  him  distinguished." 

"If  Mr.  Stanhope  thiidis  so,  I  am  certain  of  it,"  said  Irene 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  105 

confidently.  "  But  surely  a  Marquis  de  Ohateaumesnil  is  distin- 
guished under  any  regime." 

"  He  has  the  distinction  of  his  rank,  of  course— nothing  can 
rob  him  of  that ;  but  what  he  desires  also  is  the  personal  distinc- 
tion that  his  forefathers  won,  in  court  and  camp  and  cabinet. 
But,"  added  the  speaker,  suddenly  bethinking  herself  that  it 
would  not  do  to  kindle  the  interest  of  this  imaginative  girl  for 
a  man  like  the  one  of  whom  they  spoke,  "I  regret  to  say  that 
there  is  a  side  to  his  character  which  is  by  no  means  heroic. 
Failing  worthy  objects  of  ambition,  he  has  fallen  back  npon 
unworthy  ones — has  been  a  mere  man  of  fashion,  squandered  his 
fortune,  exhausted  himself  in  idle  pleasures — in  short,  run  a  very 
common  course  of  folly." 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  Irene,  with  sincere  regret  in  her  voice. 
"  I  liked  his  face,  and  I  hoped — I  thought —  But  perhaps  he  may 
be  less  to  blame  than  most  men.  If  there  was  nothing  else  for 
him  to  do — " 

"There  is  always  something  else — something  better  to  be 
done,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  her  face  hardening  a  little.  "  But 
that  also  is  what  Mr.  Stanhope  says,"  she  added  a  moment  later, 
softening  and  brightening.  "  There  is  certainly  great'  unanimity 
of  sentiment  between  you  on  the  subject  of  the  Marquis  de  Ch&- 
teaumesnil. — But  here  we  are  at  your  door,  so  I  must  bid  you 
good-by." 

"  Good-by— and  thank  you  again,"  said  the  girl,  bending  for- 
ward to  leave  a  kiss  on  the  cheek  nearest  her.  Then  she  sprang 
lightly  out  and  stood  smiling  in  the  gate-way  while  the  carriage 
drove  off.  The  sun  was  shining  down  on  her — behind  the  slender 
figure  was  a  glimpse  of  the  tranquil  court,  with  its  fountain  and 
beds  of  plants,  overshadowed  by  the  tall  houses.  Mrs.  Falconer 
carried  the  scene  away  as  a  picture  in  her  mind.  It  is  fortunate 
that  we  can  keep  such  pictures  safe  from  the  ravage  of  time,  that 
takes  all  else.  The  face  that  she  left  then,  she  was  destined  never 
to  see  again,  for  an  ineffaceable  change  had  passed  over  it  when 
she  saw  it  next :  but  in  her  memory  she  carries  it  yet,  smiling 
from  the  gate,  with  the  golden  sunshine  falling  over  it,  and  the 
green  court  behind. 


106  HEART  OF  STEEL. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

So  far  all  had  progressed  with  encouraging  smoothness  re- 
garding Mrs.  Falconer's  intentions  toward  Irene.  Mrs.  Vance 
had  indeed  shaken  her  head  when  they  were  communicated  to 
her,  hut  she  had  ventured  on  no  remonstrance.  A  remonstrance, 
however,  was  to  be  uttered,  and  that  in  a  quarter  where,  to  Stan- 
hope at  least,  it  was  unexpected.  No  thought  of  anything  of  the 
kind,  no  fear  of  being  in  any  manner  taken  to  task,  was  in  his 
mind  when,  after  having  enjoyed  a  remarkably  pleasant  dinner, 
he  entered  Mrs.  Falconer's  drawing-room  on  the  evening  after  her 
visit  to  the  Chapelle  Expiatoire.  He  did  not  observe,  as  he  en- 
tered, that  Lady  Falconer  had  established  herself  in  a  deep  fau- 
teuil  apart  from  the  other  ladies,  nor  that  she  let  the  group  of 
gentlemen  file  past  without  lifting  her  half-closed  eyelids,  until 
he  appeared,  when  she  extended  her  fan  and  stopped  him,  saying : 

"  Come  and  sit  down  by  me,  Mr.  Stanhope.  I  want  you  to 
tell  mo  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  new  caprice  of  Sydney's." 

He  sank  into  a  chair  and  looked  at  her  with  a  smile.  She  was 
a  very  pleasant  object  to  contemplate — fair  and  plump,  and,  with- 
out any  special  refinement  of  personal  appearance,  possessing  the 
grande  dame  air  which  is  the  unconscious  result  of  assured  posi- 
tion. Her  velvet  dress  lay  in  soft  folds  around  her,  there  was  an 
atmosphere  of  delicate  perfume  and  rich  lace  and  diamond  stars 
that  had  a  pleasant  effect  even  upon  Stanhope's  masculine  con- 
sciousness, and  her  bright  blue  eyes  had  a  challenge  in  them  as 
she  repeated  her  question. 

"You  must  first  tell  me,"  he  replied,  "to  what  caprice  you 
allude." 

"  As  if  you  did  not  know !  "  she  said.  "  As  if  I  did  not  know 
that  you  are  more  in  Sydney's  confidence  than  any  one  else! 
I  mean  her  caprice  for  taking  charge  of  a  beautiful  girl  with 
a  mysterious  parentage.  "What  does  it  mean  ?  " 

"  It  means,"  said  Stanhope,  "  that  Mrs.  Falconer  has  a  keen 
sense  of  the  ties  of  old  friendship.  She  did  not,  perhaps,  explain 
to  you  clearly  who  Mademoiselle  Lescar  is.  There  is  nothing 
whatever  mysterious  about  her  parentage.  Her  grandfather  was 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  107 

one  of  the  most  distinguished  men  of  his  day  in  American 
political  life — even  to  English  ears  the  name  of  Godfrey  Lescar 
means  something  yet.  Her  mother  was,  and  still  remains,  one  of 
the  most  heautiful  and  charming  of  women — but  she  made  a 
fatal  mistake  in  her  marriage." 

"  Sydney  told  me  something  about  it.  She  is  divorced,  is  she 
net?"" 

"Rather,  the  marriage  was  declared  invalid  on  the  pretext  of 
some  legal  informality — in  reality  to  enable  Prince  Waldegrave  to 
discard  a  wife  who  was  an  obstacle  to  his  upward  progress." 

"Prince  "Waldegrave!"  repeated  Lady  Falconer.  She  lifted 
herself  and  opened  her  eyes  wider  with  surprise  and  interest. 
"Is  it  possible,"  she  said,  "that  Prince  Waldegrave  is  the  man? 
I  must  have  been  asleep  when  Sydney  was  talking  to  me,  or  else 
she  did  not  mention  his  name.  There  is  not  a  diplomatist  in 
Europe  whom  I  admire  more  than  Prince  "Waldegrave." 

"That  is  very  probable,"  said  Stanhope.  "A  great  many 
people  admire  him,  and  there  is  certainly  no  question  of  his 
ability;  unfortunately,  there  is  also  no  question  but  that  ho  is 
utterly  heartless  and  profoundly  unscrupulous.  Those  qualities 
are  by  no  means  drawbacks  in  his  diplomatic  career;  but  they 
wrecked  the  life  of  the  woman  who  married  him." 

"Tell  me  the  story,"  said  Lady  Falconer,  thoroughly  roused 
now. 

She  listened  with  interest  and  close  attention,  and,  if  he  told 
the  story  well,  it  was  in  a  different  manner  from  that  in  which  he 
had  told  it  to  Mrs.  Falconer.  lie  knew  better  than  to  attempt  to 
enlist  the  sympathy  of  this  keen  woman  of  the  world — he  was 
aware  that,  to  those  of  her  kind,  misfortune  is  synonymous  with 
weakness,  to  be  pitied,  perhaps,  but  also  to  be  despised.  There 
are  numbers  of  people  to  whom,  consciously  or  unconsciously, 
prosperity  is  the  test  of  merit.  He  dwelt,  then,  very  little  on  the 
pathetic  side  of  the  story,  but  strove  to  put  Mrs.  Falconer's  kind- 
ness in  as  ordinary  a  light  as  possible.  That  he  failed  in  this 
attempt,  however,  Lady  Falconer's  first  words  proved. 

"It  is  a  sad  story,"  she  said,  "and  I  am  quite  disgusted  with 
Prince  Waldegrave ;  but  I  see  exactly  how  it  is  about  Sydney ! 
You  have  worked  upon  her  sympathy,  Mr.  Stanhope ;  whereas,  if 


108  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

your  own  sympathy  and  interest  were  not  excited,  you  would 
thiiik  \vith  me  that  she  is  making  a  mistake." 

"I  beg  to  differ  with  you,"  said  Stanhope.  "My  interest  and 
sympathy  certainly  are  excited,  but,  if  they  were  not,  I  am  sure 
I  should  not  think  that  Mrs.  Falconer  is  making  a  mistake. 
I  am  unable  to  see  what  possible  ground  there  is  for  such  an 
opinion." 

"  You  do  not  see  that  it  is  a  mistake  to  burden  herself  with  a 
girl  who,  from  what  she  tells  me,  is  so  remarkable  that  people 
must  ask  who  she  is,  and  about  whom  awkward  explanations  will 
have  to  be  made?  It  is  folly,  it  is  romantic  nonsense,  and  I  con- 
sider you  very  much  to  blame  in  the  matter!  " 

"  I  am  desolated  to  have  incurred  your  displeasure,"  said  Stan- 
hope, with  a  smile  which  she  did  not  particularly  fancy ;  "but  I 
do  not  see  the  necessity  for  any  awkward  explanations.  Made- 
moiselle Lescar  can  be  presented  to  the  world  simply  as  one  who 
has  hereditary  claims  on  Mrs.  Falconer's  kindness — the  daughter 
of  an  old  friend." 

"  It  is  a  foolish  and  hazardous  experiment — one  that  I  should 
never  have  expected  from  a  woman  of  Sydney's  good  sense,"  said 
Lady  Falconer,  who  was  plainly  not  to  be  moved  from  her  po- 
sition. "It  is  certain  to  give  rise  to  disagreeable  complications. 
Besides,  where  will  her  responsibility  end?  And  if  she  marries — " 

"Do  you  mean  Mademoiselle  Lescar?  "  asked  Stanhope. 

"  No — I  mean  Sydney."  Then  she  looked  at  him  with  a 
glance  that  was  meant  to  penetrate,  and  added,  "  Of  course  we 
both  know  that  she  will  marry." 

"  It  is  likely,"  answered  Stanhope,  "  though  I  have  never  seen 
a  woman  whose  thoughts  seemed  as  free  of  any  matrimonial 
bent," 

"  You  may  think  that  praise,  perhaps,"  said  her  ladyship, 
calmly;  "I  do  not.  One  must  have  common  sense,  or  else  one 
may  throw  away  one's  advantages  in  life,  and  reap  nothing. 
Sydney  has  great  advantages,  and  I  want  to  see  her  make  the 
most  of  them.  I  have  set  my  heart  on  her  making  a  brilliant 
marriage.  You  must  agree  with  me  that  she  is  fitted  to  do  so." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  agree  with  you  heartily;  but  I  think  she 
has  time—" 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  109 

Lady  Falconer  interrupted  him  by  an  impatient  gesture. 
"  Time!  "  she  said.  "I  grant  you  that  she  has  time  enough — she 
is  youtg  yet — but  what  does  she  gain  by  waiting  ?  Everything 
that  she  has  now,  a  judicious  marriage  would  only  make  more 
secure.  She  would  lose  nothing,  and  she  would  gain  a  great 
deal." 

""She  would  lose  one  thing,  which  I  am  sure  she  would 
regret,"  said  Stanhope.  "  That  is  freedom." 

"  A  doubtful  good,"  said  Lady  Falconer,  shaking  her  head. 
""Wise  control  is  better  for  individuals  as  well  as  for  states. 
Prince  Waldegrave  and  I  agree  on  that  subject.  You  see  freedom 
means,  among  other  things,  imprudent  benevolence.  Ko,  I  would 
like  to  see  Sydney  married  at  once." 

"  I  presume,  then,  that  you  have  selected  the  fitting  man," 
said  Stanhope,  who  was  able  to  smile  because  he  felt  sure  that, 
whatever  her  plans  might  be,  they  would  come  to  naught. 

"There  have  been  several  fitting  men,"  she  replied,  with  a 
sigh.  "There  was  Herbert  Wycliffe,  a  rising  man,  a  member  of 
Parliament— but  Sydney  found  him  doll.  Perhaps  he  was — one 
can  not  have  everything — but  dullness  is  not  always  an  objection- 
able quality  in  a  husband.  However,  the  person  whom  I  have  in 
my  mind  at  present  can  not  be  accused  of  it ;  and  I  suppose  that 
you  know  whom  I  mean  ?  " 

Stanhope  confessed  his  utter  inability  to  imagine.  "  For,"  he 
said,  "  I  think  we  agree  on  one  point — that  Mrs.  Falconer  is  fitted 
to  be  the  wife  of  a  man  who  will  play  a  distinguished  part  in  the 
world," 

"  Yes,"  said  Lady  Falconer ;  "  and  do  you  know  any  one  bet- 
ter fitted  to  play  such  a  part  than  my  kinsman,  the  Marquis 
de  Chateaumesnil  ?  " 

Stanhope  did  not  answer  for  a  moment.  Then,  with  the  air 
of  a  man  who  has  had  a  surprise,  he  said:  "M.  de  Chateaumesnil 
has  brilliant  abilities,  and  in  another  country  they  would  certainly 
open  for  him  a  brilliant  career ;  but  you  forget  what  France  is 
now." 

"Rather,  do  not  you  forget  what  France  may  be?"  she 
asked.  "What  can  be  predicted  of  it  but  change?  I  know 
what  you  will  say— a  change  for  the  worse.  But  the  worse 


110  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

must  lead  to  the  better.  From  anarchy  men  will  fly  to  order; 
and  then — " 

"Henri  Cinq  on  the  throne  of  St.  Louis,  and  the  Marquis 
de  Chateaumesnil  near  that  throne,"  said  Stanhope.  "I  fear 
that  I  can  not  take  such  an  optimistic  view  of  the  future." 

"  Putting  public  life  aside,  then,  his  rank  is  high  enough,  his 
social  prestige  great  enough,  to  satisfy  the  most  ambitious  wom- 
an." 

"And  his  fortune?  "  asked  Stanhope,  with  a  slight,  significant 
smile.  "  You  have  forgotten  to  mention  that." 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  the  lady,  in  no  wise  disconcerted.  "  You 
must  be  aware  that  his  fortune  has  suffered  very  much.  But  wo 
are  people  of  the  world,  you  and  I,  and  wre  know  that,  in  an  ele- 
vated rank  of  life,  marriages  are  not  arranged  without  a  balance 
of  advantages." 

"In  other  words,  you  think  that  Mrs.  Falconer's  fortune  is 
only  a  proper  equivalent  for  the  rank  of  the  Marquis  de  Chateau- 
mesnil ? " 

"  Without  doubt.  And  I  must  add  that,  but  for  her  personal 
gifts,  I  should  not  think  so.  For  it  is  not  every  woman  who  is 
the  possessor  of  American  millions  who  would  make  a  suitable 
Marquise  de  Chateaumesnil." 

"And  am  I  to  understand,"  said  Stanhope,  after  a  moment's 
pause,  "  that  the  Marquis  formally  proposes  himself,  or  is  proposed 
by  you,  as  a  suitor  to  Mrs.  Falconer  ? " 

"  No,  no,"  answered  she,  quickly.  "  Don't  go  so  fast !  The 
idea  is  my  own,  and  you  are  the  first  person  to  whom  I  have 
breathed  it.  But  it  occurred  to  me  at  Glenrochan,  and  I  should 
not  be  surprised  if  it  had  also  occurred  to  him." 

Stanhope  thought  that  he  would  not  be  surprised  either ;  but 
he  also  thought  that  there  was  not,  as  far  as  he  was  aware  of  Mrs. 
Falconer's  attitude  of  mind,  much  therein  to  encourage  any  mat- 
rimonial hopes.  "  But  '  who  is't  can  read  a  woman? '  "  he  said  to 
himself.  "And  such  an  alliance  would  give  her  all  the  scope 
for  social  ambition  that  she  could  desire." 

Lady  Falconer,  who  was  watching  his  face,  leaned  forward. 
"I  see  that  it  begins  to  grow  upon  you,"  she  said.  "I  have 
counted  much  on  you. — your  influence  with  her,  your  friend- 


HEART  OF  STEEL,  111 

ship  for  him,  make  you  just  the  person  to  accomplish  all  I  de- 
eire." 

"Pardon  me,"  he  replied  ;  "  but  I  must  say  at  once  that  yon 
count  too  much  on  my  influence  with  Mrs.  Falconer  and  my  friend- 
ship for  the  Marquis.  I  am  hardly  inclined  to  use  either  in  any- 
thing so  perilous  as  a  matrimonial  scheme." 

"Do  you  mean,"  she  asked,  a  little  pettishly,  "that  you  are 
opposed  to  such  a  marriage?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  he  answered.  "  I  only  mean  that  I  am  opposed  • 
to  assuming  the  responsibility  of  arranging  it." 

What  answer  Lady  Falconer  would  have  made  could  only  be 
conjectured,  for  at  this  moment  Count  Schewndorf  approached, 
to  whom  Stanhope  willingly  yielded  his  seat  and  moved  away. 

It  was  not  with  altogether  agreeable  thoughts  that  he  did  so. 
The  remonstrance  about  Irene  had  ruffled  him  a  little,  but  it  was 
entirely  a  surface  ruffling,  for  he  knew  Mrs.  Falconer  too  well  to 
imagine  that  she  would  be  swayed  in  the  least  by  such  advice: 
at  that  moment  he  recalled  the  picture  of  her,  smiling  up  into 
his  face  in  the  grounds  of  the  Trianon,  and  congratulating  herself 
that  she  was  rich  and  free,  and  able  to  do  what  she  liked.  Bat 
the  suggestion  of  her  marriage  to  the  Marquis  de  Chateaumesnil 
had  struck  below  the  surface.  Why  it  rendered  him  impatient, 
Stanhope  hardly  knew.  He  had  long  anticipated,  and,  as  he  once 
said,  pleased  himself  by  anticipating,  some  such  destiny  for  her. 
But,  lulled  into  security  by  the  decided  manner  in  which  she  put 
away  that  question  of  marriage  which  society  insists  upon  thrust- 
ing on  the  attention  of  all  unmarried  and  desirable  women,  he 
had  dreamed  of  a  number  of  years  of  her  present  life,  with  all  its 
delightful  circumstances,  and  then  the  brilliant  marriage,  the 
higher  position  as  a  finale.  If  she  thought  of  surrendering  this 
freedom  on  which  she  had  congratulated  herself,  no  one  knew 
better  than  himself  what  a  material  difference  it  would  make  in 
her  position  toward  Irene.  "  But  I  have  no  reason  to  believe  that 
she  would  think  of  it,"  he  said,  by  way  of  reassuring  himself. 

Meanwhile — for  it  was  Mrs.  Falconer's  evening  of  reception 
— the  salon  was  filling  with  guests,  and  he  had  not  taken  many 
steps  away  from  the  nook  where  Lady  Falconer  had  established 
herself,  before  hs  was  stopped  by  a  young  lady  who  uttered  an 


112  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

exclamation  of  pleasure  and  surprise  at  sight  of  him.  She  was 
a  small  and  exquisitely  pretty  person,  although,  to  an  eye  experi- 
enced in  such  matters,  it  was  apparent  that  she  owed  some  meas- 
ure of  this  prettiness  to  her  toilet,  which  was  perfect  in  its  be- 
comingness  and  grace.  Nature,  however,  had  been  very  generous 
to  her.  An  abundance  of  pale,  golden  hair  framed  a  piquant 
face,  with  large  dark  eyes  full  of  diablerie,  a  delicate,  blooming 
complexion,  a  saucy  nez  retrousse,  a  mouth  that  seemed  made  for 
laughter  and  kisses,  and  a  dainty  chin  cleft  by  a  dimple.  She 
held  out  her  hand  as  Stanhope  came  toward  her.  He  knew— who 
did  not  know  ? — Yiolet  Dysart,  one  of  the  prettiest,  and,  in  all 
save  her  chief  aim,  most  successful  of  those  young  ladies  whom 
America  sends  forth  to  amuse  and  astonish,  and  now  and  then  to 
conquer,  Europe. 

"  How  charmed  I  am  to  see  you  1 "  she  said,  "  and  surprised,  too 
— though  why  I  should  be  surprised  I  don't  know.  It  is  at  least 
as  natural  for  you  to  be  in  Paris  as  it  is  for  me  to  be  here." 

"  Nothing  could  be  more  natural  in  either  case,"  replied  Stan- 
hope, smiling,  "  Paris  being  a  magnet  likely  to  attract  such  wan- 
dering bodies  as  we  both  are.  I  am  delighted  to  meet  you,  and 
to  find  you  looking  so  well." 

"I  ought  to  look  well,"  she  answered,  "for  I  always  thrive 
on  enjoyment,  and  I  have  had  an  enchanting  summer.  I  believe 
the  last  time  I  saw  you  was  here  in  Paris  in  May,  and  you  told 
me  you  were  going  to  Iceland  or  some  such  place.  I  went  to 
London  for  the  season,  and  then  I  was  invited  to  several  country- 
houses,  so  that  I  have  just  returned  to  the  Continent.  No  people 
in  the  world  live  so  perfectly  as  the  English,  and  I  would  rather 
marry  an  Englishman — a  high-born,  wealthy  Englishman — than 
any  one  else  whatever." 

"I  think,"  said  Stanhope,  gravely,  "that  the  last  time  I  heard 
you  express  a  matrimonial  preference,  it  was  for  an  Austrian.  I 
welcome  the  change  as  an  indication  that  perhaps  your  taste  may 
presently  settle  upon  one  of  your  own  countrymen." 

"  Never !  "  said  she,  emphatically.  "  I  wonder  that  you  vent- 
ure to  say  such  a  thing  to  me,  when  you  know  that  you  are  the 
only  American  I  can  tolerate ;  and  you  are  not  an  American  at 
all — you  are  a  cosmopolitan." 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  113 

"I  hardly  know  whether  to  thank  you  or  not.  I  am  afraid 
that,  when  a  man  rids  himself  entirely  of  his  nationality,  he  also 
loses  something  of  his  individuality." 

"  Something  hetter  lost  than  kept — at  least  in  your  case.  In 
mine  it  is  different.  I  ahhor  America ;  but  I  find  that  to  keep 
my  American  manners— modified,  of  course — and  my  American 
freedom,  makes  me  more  individual,  and  therefore  more  attract- 
ive over  here.  I  have  reduced  it  to  a  fine  art — exactly  how  much 
to  keep  and  how  much  to  let  go — and  the  consequence  is,  I  have 
had  a  wonderful  success.  I  am  astonished  at  it  myself." 

"I  am  not,"  said  Stanhope,  amused  by  her  frankness.  "You 
were  made  to  conquer.  And  I  have  no  doubt  you  have  a  great 
deal  to  tell  me  of  your  conquests  in  England?  " 

"  Oh,  a  great  deal — more  than  I  can  tell  you  now.  You  must 
come  to  see  me.  I  am  with  the  Gilberts,  Kumero  — ,  Avenue 
Marceau.  You  know  them — or,  if  you  don't,  they  will  be  de- 
lighted to  know  you.  Poor  souls !  they  thought  it  would  bo 
charming  to  live  abroad,  and  now  that  they  have  established  them- 
selves here  they  are  very  dull,  and  welcome  any  of  their  friends 
who  may  appear,  as  though  they  were  Crusoes  cast  away  on  a 
desert  island.  I  don't  like  their  circle  of  acquaintances  or  any- 
thing about  them,"  pursued  the  young  lady  with  the  candor  that 
characterized  all  her  utterances,  "  for,  being  in  Paris,  their  chief 
effort  seems  directed  toward  living  as  much  as  possible  as  if  they 
were  in  America.  But  I  am  chaperonless  at  present.  The  people 
with  whom  I  went  to  London  have  returned  to  America,  and  the 
Jerninghams  are  still  in  Germany.  I  wish  Mrs.  Falconer  would 
take  me  under  her  wing — I  don't  know  anybody  whose  mode  of 
life  I  like  better  than  hers.  But  of  course  it  is  not  to  be  ex- 
pected. "What  woman  in  her  place  could  be  expected  to  take 
charge  of  a  younger  and — well,  as  pretty  a  woman  ? " 

"Especially  if  the  latter  is  mistress  of  the  art  of  fascination," 
said  Stanhope,  with  a  smile  which  Miss  Dysart  did  not  altogether 
understand. 

"I  presume  you  mean  to  be  sarcastic,"  she  said,  "  but  all  the 
same,  you  are  right.  I  do  know  something  of  the  art — though  not 
much  more,  probably,  than  Mrs.  Falconer  herself.  A  propos,  does 
she  mean  to  marry  the  Marquis  de  Chateaumesnil  ?  " 


114  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"  Why  should  you  think  so  ?  "  asked  Stanhope,  a  little  startled, 
not  only  by  the  promptness  with  which  tlie  suggestion  met  him 
again,  but  by  the  matter-of-course  tone  in  which  it  was  made. 

Miss  Dysart  regarded  him  with  an  expression  of  surprise. 
"It  is  what  everybody  who  knows  anything  about  the  matter 
expects  her  to  do,"  she  answered.  "  And  when  I  was  at  Glen- 
rochan — did  I  tell  you  I  was  there  for  a  fortnight? — I  saw  that 
Lady  Falconer  meant  to  make  the  match.  I  only  wish  I  had 
the  chance !  "  she  added,  with  a  candid  sigh.  "  To  hear  one's  self 
called  Madame  la  Marquise,  to  bear  one  of  the  oldest  names  and 
be  married  to  the  most  charming  man  in  France— what  happi- 


"  You  might  not  find  as  much  happiness  in  it  as  you  imagine, 
perhaps,"  said  Stanhope,  gently — being  in  truth  sincerely  sorry 
for  the  girl,  who  was  wasting  her  youth,  her  beauty,  her  un- 
doubted cleverness  in  a  hopeless  quest  that  had  already  made  her 
only  too  notorious.  "There  may  be  better  things  than  to  be 
called  Madame  la  Marquise.  For  instance,  to  reward  devotion." 

"  Such  as  that  ? "  she  asked,  her  lip  curling  as  she  followed  his 
glance,  which  had  involuntarily  fallen  on  Erne.  "  No,  monsieur, 
je  vous  remercie,  but  not  until  I  am  ten  years  older,  at  least,  shall 
I  think  of  that.  Indeed,  I  doubt  if  ten — twenty — years  will  bring 
me  to  it!  But  here  comes  M.  le  Marquis  himself!  However 
hopeless  it  may  be,  I  confess  that  I  have  a  decided  tendresse  for 
Mm." 

Stanhope  was  of  the  opinion  that  the  tendresse  was  very  hope- 
less; but,  as  M.  de  Chateaumesnil  approached,  he  thought  that  if 
the  fascinations  of  the  young  lady  made  any  impression,  he,  at 
least,  would  not  be  grieved  thereat.  Yet  it  was  with  something 
like  a  sense  of  shame  that  he  recognized  this  feeling.  After  all, 
he  could  not  deny  that  Lady  Falconer  had  been  right  in  much 
that  she  had  said.  The  personal  distinction,  which  was  set  like  a 
seal  upon  the  Marquis,  seemed  only  the  outward  token  of  qualities 
which  fitted  him  to  achieve  a  position  even  higher  than  his  in- 
herited rank,  were  circumstances  ever  propitious.  And  among 
those  circumstances,  what  was  more  essential  than  the  ease  of 
fortune  which  Mrs.  Falconer  could  bestow  ? — while  for  that  fort- 
une she  would  certainly  receive  the  fullest  worldly  equivalent. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  115 

The  idea  once  suggested  persisted  in  intruding  itself,  let  Mm  do 
what  lie  would  to  banish  it ;  and  so  it  was,  perhaps,  that  not 
finding  himself  attuned  to  the  social  atmosphere,  he  soon  sought 
his  hostess  to  say  good-night. 

"You  are  leaving  early,"  she  said.  "I  fear  we  are  not  very 
entertaining.  You  must  be  sure  to  come  on  Sunday — "  (this  was 
when  she  received  only  her  special  friends).  "  But,  meanwhile,  I 
see  that  something  annoys  you.  Has  Lady  Falconer  been  talking 
to  you  about  Irene  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  glad  at  that  moment  to  remember  that 
Lady  Falconer  had  been  doing  so.  "  She  has  been  taking  me  se- 
verely to  task — blaming  me  for  having  excited  your  sympathy  to 
do  a  foolish  thing." 

"  I  was  sure  she  would  attack  you,"  said  Mrs,  Falconer,  "  after 
she  found  that  her  remonstrances  had  no  effect  upon  me.  But 
you  don't  mind — do  you?  You  understand  how  it  may  look 
from  her  point  of  view — but,  fortunately,  her  point  of  view  does 
not  matter  at  all." 

"  I  don't  mind  in  the  least  what  she  thinks,"  he  replied,  "  but 
I  need  hardly  say  I  should  be  deeply  sorry,  and  reproach  my- 
self severely,  if  in  any  respect  it  did  prove  a  foolish  thing  for 
you." 

She  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  "  I  am  afraid  that  it  is  you 
who  are  foolish,"  she  said.  "You  have  been  influenced  by  Lady 
Falconer's  opinion,  while  on  me  it  has  not  had  the  slightest 
effect.  Va-t-en  !  I  am  ashamed  of  you !  " 

"  I  am  ashamed  of  myself,"  he  answered,  in  a  low  tone,  as  he 
took  her  hand.  And  then  he  went  away. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE  nest  morning  Stanhope  was  waked  at  an  early  hour  by 
the  appearance  of  his  servant  at  his  bedside  with  a  note  which, 
the  man  said,  the  messenger  who  brought  it  declared  to  be  urgent 
— "  else  I  should  not  have  disturbed  monsieur,"  he  added,  apolo- 
getically. 

"  You  were  quite  right,"  Stanhope  answered,  as  he  took  the 


116  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

note  and  opened  it.    It  was  certainly  urgent,  for  this  was  what  it 
contained  in  hasty,  almost  illegible  writing : 

"Dear  Mr.  Stanhope,  pray  come  to  us  at  once.  Mamma  is 
very  ill,  and  asks  for  you.  IB^XE." 

It  required  only  a  minute  for  him  to  rise  and  hegin  to  make  a 
hurried  toilet,  while  he  sent  his  servant  to  call  a  fiacre.  He  was 
ready  when  the  man  returned  to  say  that  one  awaited  him. 
Going  down,  he  bade  the  messenger— whom  he  knew  to  be  the 
son  of  Madame  Lescar's  concierge — come  with  him,  and  as  he 
entered  the  carriage  he  gave  first  Madame  Lescar's,  and  then, 
changing  it  quickly,  Mrs.  Falconer's  address.  The  boy  stared ; 
but  the  cause  of  the  change  was  soon  apparent,  for,  taking  out  bis 
note-book  as  soon  as  he  was  seated,  he  began  to  write,  as  well  as 
the  motion  would  allow,  on  a  blank  leaf. 

"I  inclose,"  he  said,  ua  note  from  Ire'ne  which  has  just 
reached  me,  and  I  am  on  my  way  to  answer  the  summons.  I 
think  it  probable  that  Madame  Lescar  is  dying,  and  I  know  that 
I  do  not  ask  too  much  of  your  kindness  in  begging  you  to  follow 
me  as  soon  as  you  can.  L.  S." 

He  only  paused  long  enough  at  Mrs.  Falconer's  door  to  leave 
this,  and  then  drove  away  toward  the  Avenue  du  Bois  de  Bou- 
logne. As  the  fiacre  rattled  up  the  Champs-Elyse'es  he  thought  of 
the  day  of  his  arrival  in  Paris,  when  he  had  walked  along  there, 
to  obey  another  summons  from  Madame  Lescar,  and  had  met 
Mrs.  Falconer  on  the  way.  "  But  for  that  meeting,  I  might  never 
have  thought  of  enlisting  her  interest  in  the  matter,"  he  reflected. 
"  Ought  I  to  congratulate  myself  on  the  chance — if  chance  it 
was?  It  has  certainly  given  peace  to  the  poor  soul  to  whom  I 
am  going — Heaven  grant  that  it  may  never  bring  anything  else 
to  the  kind  heart  that  proved  itself  so  easily  touched !  " 

There  were  many  thoughts  like  this  to  fill  his  mind ;  yet  such 
is  the  dual  action  of  consciousness,  that  he  marked  and  appreciated 
all  the  aspect  of  Paris  at  this  early  hour.  The  street-sweepers  had 
lately  done  their  work  and  left  the  wide  avenue  clean  as  a  palace- 
court  ;  floods  of  sunshine  poured  over  the  chestnut-trees,  under 
which  only  a  few  workmen  now  loitered,  over  the  basins  of  the 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  117 

Rond  Point,  where  the  fountains  were  not  yet  playing,  over  the 
richly  ornamented  facades  of  the  great  hotels  that  extend  thence 
to  the  Barriere  de  Tfitoile,  and  over  the  nohle  sculptures  that 
stand  in  high  relief  on  the  Arc  de  Triomphe. 

As  they  drove  around  the  latter,  his  eye  involuntarily  turned 
to  a  scone  that  had  for  him  much  the  same  fascination  as  for 
Irene — the  sweep  of  distant  country  hetween  Longchamps  and 
St.  Cloud — soft  woods,  far  heights,  villages  like  spots  of  light.  No 
one  can  forget  that  view  who  has  ever  seen  it  with  the  golden 
sky  of  evening  above,  when  it  seems  like  some  enchanted  world 
heyond  the  passionate,  struggling,  feverish  city.  But  at  this  hour 
it  was  not  less  lovely.  Shining  mists  were  lying  over  it,  already 
lifting  to  meet  the  sun's  ardent  kiss,  presenting  a  thousand  effects 
of  light  and  color,  and  showing  a  dream-landscape  toned  to  the 
most  exquisite  softness.  A  fair  day  had  dawned  upon  the  earth  5 
but  its  beauty  was  full  of  sadness  to  Stanhope,  as  he  thought  of 
the  eyes  that,  in  all  probability,  would  not  see  the  setting  of  its 
sun. 

'  His  worst  anticipations  were  realized  by  the  weeping  maid, 
who  opened  the  door  of  Madame  Lescar's  apartment  for  him. 

"  Ah,  monsieur,"  she  said,  "  she  is  dying — the  sweet  lady,  the 
good  lady !  The  doctor  gives  no  hope." 

Stanhope  had  expected  to  hear  this;  but  nevertheless  his 
heart  sank.  "  Ask  the  doctor  to  come  and  speak  to  me,"  he  said. 
"I  will  wait  in  the  salon." 

He  entered  that  room  as  he  spoke,  and  a  moment  later  the 
physician  joined  him.  He  had  seen  Stanhope  before,  and  knew 
his  interest  in  Madame  Lescar. 

"  It  has  come,"  he  said — "  suddenly,  as  I  knew  that  it  would. 
Her  paroxysms  are  now  very  sharp,  but  the  end  may  be  peace- 
ful." 

"There  is,  then,  no  hope?"  asked  Stanhope. 

The  doctor  looked  surprised.  "  I  thought  I  told  yon  how  it 
would  be,"  he  said.  "  There  is  not  a  shadow  of  hope.  But  I  am 
doing  all  that  I  can  to  alleviate  the  pain.  When  I  arrived,  her 
suffering  was  terrible.  But  she  is  a  brave  woman,  ma  foi!  In 
the  midst  of  it  she  found  words  to  console  her  daughter,  and  she 
directed  that  you  and  a  priest  might  be  sent  for." 


118  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"The  priest,  no  doubt,  has  arrived? " 

"  Some  time  ago." 

"  And  when  can  I  see  her  ?  " 

"The  sooner  the  better.  A  paroxysm  was  passing  off  when  I 
left  her,  and  no  doubt  she  is  now  quiet.  Come  with  me." 

He  walked  across  the  room,  drew  back  the  portiere  that  hung 
before  the  door  of  Madame  Lescar's  chamber,  and  entered. 

Stanhope  followed,  and,  if  he  had  shrunk  from  the  scene  which 
he  feared  awaited  him,  he  recognized  on  his  entrance  that  there 
was  nothing  here  to  dread  or  shrink  from.  All  was  calm  and 
very  peaceful.  In  Madame  Lescar's  suffering,  the  heart  was 
involved  to  a  degree  that  made  a  reclining  posture  impossible  for 
her.  She  was  seated,  therefore,  in  a  deep  arm-chair,  which  was 
placed  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  fronting  a  window  through 
which  the  eye  rested  on  a  great  space  of  blue  sky,  with  a  few 
golden  tree-tops  rising  against  it.  Nothing  else  was  visible. 
Only  heaven  looked  into  this  death-chamber. 

That  it  was  a  death-chamber,  Stanhope  felt  there  was  indeed 
no  room  to  doubt  when  his  eye  fell  on  Madame  Lescar's  face, 
stamped  as  it  was  with  the  signet  which  none  can  ever  mistake  or 
forget.  Her  complexion  was  of  deathly  pallor,  her  eyes  closed, 
her  breathing  faint  and  labored.  One  hand  was  pressed  to  her 
heart;  her  daughter,  who  was  kneeling  at  her  side,  clasped  the 
other  with  her  head  bent  upon  it.  Near  by  stood  one  well  used 
to  such  scenes — a  priest  of  the  order  of  the  Passionists — a  crucifix 
in  his  hand,  his  face  full  of  compassion.  The  candles  burning  on 
a  table  close  at  hand  proved  that  the  last  sacraments  had  already 
been  administered. 

As  Stanhope  drew  softly  toward  her,  an  instinct  seemed  to 
tell  the  dying  woman  of  his  presence,  for  she  opened  her  eyes,  and 
with  a  smile  of  exceeding  sweetness  held  out  her  hand  to  him. 

"I  am  glad,"  she  whispered,  "that  you  have  come — in  time." 

He  was  too  much  moved  to  answer.  He  felt  himself  to  be 
not  only  in  the  presence  of  God's  great  messenger,  but  also  of  one 
who  had  so  well  "fought  the  good  fight,"  had  so  bravely  "kept 
the  faith,"  had  so  borne  injury  with  meekness  and  adversity  with 
unalterable  patience,  that  there  seemed  a  blessing  in  her  touch. 

After  a  moment  she  spoke  again.    '•  It  is  not,"  she  said,  "  that 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  119 

I  have  anything  to  add  to  what  I  have  already  told  you.  I  only 
wish  to  thank  you  once  more  for  all  your  kindness,  to  pray  that 
God  will  reward  you  for  it,  and  to  repeat  that  I  have  perfect 
confidence  in  you."  She  paused  a  moment,  then  in  a  lower 
whisper  said,  "  Irfine !  " 

The  girl  lifted  her  face,  and,  as  Stanhope's  glance  fell  on  it,  he 
thought  that  he  had  never  seen  a  human  countenance  so  moved 
and  transfigured  hy  grief.  It  was  the  face  of  one  whose  heart 
seemed  literally  breaking.  There  was  scarcely  a  tinge  of  color  in 
the  pale  lips  that  said,  "I  am  here,  mamma." 

"My  child,"  said  the  faint  voice,  "I  leave  you  to  the  care  of 
this  good  friend,  and  I  beg  you  to  do  what  he  counsels  and 
directs.  It  is  the  comfort  that  God  gives  me  for  the  bitterness  of 
leaving  you,  that  I  leave  you  in  such  kind  hands." 

"Ah!"  was  the  answer  with  a  sobbing  breath,  "I  will  do 
whatever  you  wish ;  but  it  matters  nothing — less  than  nothing — 
what  befalls  me  after  you  are  gone." 

"It  matters  everything — to  me,"  said  the  dying  woman. 
"  God  forgive  me  if  I  am  loath  to  go,  when  I  think  of  leaving 
you  behind!  But  he  has  been  very  good — he  has  raised  up 
friends  for  you — and  I  know  that  you  will  obey  my  wishes.  I 
have  written — I  have  directed — " 

"  Whatever  you  have  directed  I  will  do,"  said  the  girl.  "  Have 
no  doubt  or  fear  but  that  I  will  f ulfill  all  your  wishes.  What  else 
shall  I  have  to  do  in  life? " 

"And  I,"  said  Stanhope,  taking  the  pale  hand  again,  "prom- 
ise, as  I  have  promised  before,  that  to  the  best  of  my  ability 
I  will  fulfill  the  trust  you  have  given  me;  and  that,  so  long  as 
I  live,  your  daughter  shall  never  lack  a  friend." 

She  thanked  him  by  a  look  that  he  long  remembered — so 
eloquent,  so  pathetic  was  it.  And  then  there  was  silence  for 
several  minutes.  Presently  the  doctor  touched  her  pulse  and 
whispered  to  Stanhope,  "  The  end  is  near." 

She  heard  him,  and  lifted  again  the  lids  that  covered  her  eyes. 
"  I  have — something — yet  to  do,"  she  whispered  brokenly.  "  Irene 
— my  child — " 

"  Here — here,  mamma !  Do  you  not  see  me  ?  "  said  the  girl,  in 
an  agonized  voice. 


120  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

Yes,  it  was  plain  that  the  mother  still  saw  that  loved,  familiar 
face.  The  beautiful  eyes  opened  wide  and  gazed  on  it  fondly  for 
a  moment.  Then  with  faint,  tremulous  eagerness,  she  said, 
"Promise  me — I  have  waited  until  no\v  to  ask — promise  me 
that  you  will  forgive — all  who  have  wronged  you." 

Stanhope  looked  at  Irene,  and  it  appeared  to  him  that  even  at 
that  moment  her  face  hardened  like  granite.  She  hesitated — then 
for  the  first  time  broke  into  passionate  weeping. 

"  Ask  me  anything  else  1  "  she  cried.  "  I  would  give  you  my 
life ;  hut  how  can  I  say  that  I  forgive  one  who  wronged  you  more 
than  me  ? " 

"  Because,  were  the  wrong  a  hundred  times  greater,  you  must 
not  suffer  it  to  embitter  your  heart  and  endanger  your  soul,"  an- 
swered Madame  Lescar,  with  strange  command  in  the  weak  tones 
of  her  voice.  It  seemed  as  if  at  that  moment  she  rose  above  the 
power  of  death,  shaking  off  its  fatal  lethargy  to  speak  these  words 
— words  which,  Stanhope  felt,  it  had  been  long  in  her  mind  to 
speak  at  that  moment.  "  What  do  you  think  that  it  looks  to  mo 
— here  on  the  threshold  of  eternity?  "  she  asked,  with  a  light  on 
her  face  which  those  who  saw  it  never  forgot.  "  O  my  darling, 
nothing — nothing  that  is  worth  one  thought  of  resentment !  We 
have  lost  the  splendors  and  the  honors  of  the  world :  but,  God 
knows  best.  He  knows  how  hard  it  is  to  possess  them — and  save 
one's  soul.  And,  while  the  wrong  was  great,  yet,  remember, 
nothing  done  to  us  can  degrade  us.  Thank  God,  I  have  forgiven 
it— wholly!  Could  I  do  other  when  I  look  at  thatt"  She 
pointed  to  the  crucifix.  "  Give  it  to  me,  father,"  she  said,  and 
when  it  was  placed  in  her  hands  she  extended  it  to  her  daughter. 
"  On  this — on  this — "  she  said,  in  tones  that  became  more  faint 
and  gasping — "promise  me  on  this  that  you  will  try  to  forgive!" 

That  it  was  a  terrible  struggle  with  Irene  either  to  refuse  or  to 
comply,  Stanhope  saw  with  compassion.  The  priest  was  silent — 
knowing  that  at  such  a  moment  the  mother's  words  would  have 
far  more  weight  than  his.  The  pause  lasted  only  an  instant, 
but  it  seemed  longer  than  many  minutes,  when  suspense  was 
ended  by  the  doctor,  who  let  his  hand  fall  on  the  girl's  shoulder. 

"Speak  quickly,"  he  said,  "or  it  will  be  too  late  to  speak  at 
all." 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  121 

She  cast  a  terrified  glance  on  her  mother's  face,  and,  seeing  the 
awful  change  written  there,  cried  in  a  choking  voice :  "I  will  try 
— I  will  try.  O  mamma,  do  you  hear  me  ?  I  will  try !  " 

"  Amen !  "  said  the  priest,  solemnly,  as  he  lifted  the  crucifix  to 
the  dying  lips,  which  seemed  to  wear  a  sweet,  triumphant  smile. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THERE  are  timea  in  the  lives  of  many  of  us  when  all  familiar 
things  change  and  fall  away — it  may  he  through  some  uprooting 
catastrophe,  or  with  the  departing  grace  of  some  beloved  pres- 
ence— and  we  suddenly  find  ourselves  standing  alone  amid  the 
wreck  of  interests,  hopes,  and  feelings.  All  seems  at  an  end  ex- 
cept the  mere  fact  of  existence.  The  path  we  were  treading  has 
come  to  a  blank,  dead  wall.  Does  anything  lie  beyond  ?  Who 
knows  or  cares  ?  All  that  we  ask  is  to  sink  down  at  the  foot  of  this 
wall — which  BO  hopelessly  divides  the  past  we  can  never  retrace 
from  the  future,  for  which  we  have  no  heart — and  be  left  in  sorrow- 
ful peace  to  our  darkness  and  desolation. 

This,  at  least,  was  all  that  Irene  asked  in  the  days  that  fol- 
lowed her  mother's  death.  To  her  the  wall  which  ended  her  path- 
way was  blank  and  dead  indeed.  "  As  yet  she  has  only  loved 
her  mother,"  Madame  Lescar  once  said  with  yearning  pathos 
to  Stanhope ;  and  it  was  sadly  true.  No  one — not  even  God — 
had  shared  this  love ;  and  so  the  poor,  crushed  heart  had  not  a 
ray  of  comfort  or  light  in  the  agony  that  fell  upon  it.  Even 
Mrs.  Falconer's  kindness,  untiring  as  it  was,  failed  to  move  her. 
Indeed,  there  is  no  doubt  that,  had  she  been  utterly  friendless, 
it  would  hardly  have  been  an  added  drop  to  the  full  cup  of  her 
poignant  grief.  Everything  was  swallowed  up  in  the  greatness  of 
her  desolation.  And,  in  speaking  of  this  desolation,  it  is  difficult 
to  avoid  apparent  exaggeration,  for  it  was  such  as  does  not  often 
befall  any  one,  even  upon  this  sorrowful  earth.  Not  only  had  she 
poured  out  all  the  devotion  of  her  nature  upon  a  single  head,  but 
this  devotion  was  intensified  by  the  burning  sense  of  a  common 
wrong,  by  the  realization  of  the  majestic  patience  with  which  that 


122  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

wrong  had  been  borne,  and  by  the  keenness  of  pity,  admiration 
and  sympathy  blent  into  one  whole  of  passionate  feeling. 

Moreover,  it  is  the  prerogative  of  an  imaginative  nature  to 
heighten  feeling.  "Where  the  commonplace  mind  sees  only  facts, 
the  imaginative  sees  motives,  thoughts,  emotions — a  whole  world 
of  possible  mental  action.  So  it  was  that  Irene,  in  dwelling  on 
the  magnitude  of  the  wrong  that  had  been  done  to  her  mother, 
saw  not  only  the  wrong  itself,  but  all  that  flowed  from  it — the 
long  martyrdom  of  heart  and  pride,  borne  with  heroic  silence, 
but  ending  only  in  the  peace  of  death.  It  is  hardly  too  much  to 
say  that  every  pang  which  the  mother  had  suffered,  the  daughter 
lived  over  again  through  the  intense  sympathy  that  is  like  intui- 
tion. She  knew  her  mother  so  well — all  her  delicate  pride,  her 
inborn  reserve,  her  exquisite  fastidiousness :  she  felt  as  if  it  were 
branded  on  her  comprehension  with  fire  all  that  it  must  have  been 
to  such  a  nature  to  undergo  the  ordeal  through  which  it  had 
passed.  And  this  was  the  end.  The  cloud  had  never  lifted,  the 
wrong  had  never  been  redressed,  nor  had  Heaven  smitten  the 
wrong-doer  with  any  punishment  visible  to  men. 

Poor  Irene!  Over  heaven  itself  just  then  a  dark  pall  seemed 
to  be  drawn.  Is  it  not  often  so  with  grief?  Strong  indeed 
must  be  the  divine  light  of  faith  in  souls  that,  when  sorely  smitten, 
cry  not  out  to  God  that  it  is  ill-done.  Few  are  those  who  in  such 
an  hour  can  say  with  holy  Job  in  the  sublimest  words  ever  ut- 
tered by  grief:  "The  Lord  gave;  the  Lord  hath  taken  away: 
blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord."  Certainly  snch  devout  sub- 
mission was  far  from  the  poor  child  who  in  her  mother  had  lost  her 
all — the  sole  vessel  in  which  she  had  garnered  up  the  treasures  of 
her  heart.  At  first  she  seemed  smitten  into  dumb  despair ;  but 
there  came  an  hour  when  despair  found  a  voice.  It  was  the 
night  before  Madame  Lescar's  funeral — the  last  of  Irene's  old 
life,  for  on  the  next  day  she  was  not  to  return  to  the  apartment 
on  the  Avenue  du  Bois  de  Boulogne,  but  to  go  home  with  Mrs. 
Falconer.  That  tight  all  her  partial  composure  gave  way,  and 
the  flood-gates  of  grief  were  opened.  When  she  was  at  last  taken 
almost  forcibly  from  the  coffin  where  the  fair,  serene  face  lay 
sleeping  with  the  blessed  candles  throwing  their  light  down  upon 
it,  they  hoped  that  from  exhaustion  she  might  sleep ;  but  it  proved 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  123 

a  vain  hope.  She  began  to  pace  the  floor  of  her  chamber,  talking 
the  while,  half  to  herself,  half  to  Mrs.  Falconer,  who  sat  by  the 
fire  watching  the  slender  figure,  as  it  passed  to  and  fro  across  the 
dim,  half-lighted  room. 

"It  seems  so  strange  that  I  should  be  alive!"  the  piteous 
voice  was  saying.  "I  always  thought  that,  when  the  blow  fell,  it 
would  kill  me ;  but  I  am  strong,  I  am  well,  while  my  mother,  my 
dearest,  my  best-beloved — ah,  what  do  I  say  ? — my  only  beloved, 
is  lying  dead !  Great  God,  what  am  I  made  of — that  I  can  see  it 
and  know  it  and  endure  it,  and  live! — "  Then,  presently,  after  a 
pause :  "  Do  you  know  of  what  I  think  when  I  look  at  her  dead 
face  ?  It  is  the  long-suffering  of  her  life.  You  will  say  that  it  is 
over  now — and  I  know  that  it  is.  But  it  was — and  it  has  killed 
her !  She  bore  it  with  the  patience  of  a  saint ;  but  it  has  killed 
her  all  the  same. — And  do  you  know  that  I  promised  her  to  try 
to  forgive  ?  But  I  can  not — oh,  I  can  not !  It  is  useless  to  try ! 
When  I  remember  all  that  she  endured,  and  the  cruel  wrong 
which  blasted  her  life,  I  can  find  no  prayer  but '  May  God  requite 
him  ! — may  God  return  to  him  every  pang ! ' " 

"  Irene !  "  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  startled  more  by  the  passion  of 
the  tone  than  even  hy  the  words,  "  my  dear  child,  remember 
yourself!  Remember  how  such  feeling  would  grieve  the  mother 
whom  you  love  so  devotedly.  For  her  sake—" 

"It  is  for  her  sake  that  I  feel  it !  "  the  passionate  voice  went 
on.  "Do  you  think  that  for  myself  it  would  matter?  Oh,  you 
do  not  know  how  it  is  for  her  I  have  felt  it  all!  He  might  have 
done  everything  that  he  has  done  to  me — taken  away  my  birth- 
right, denied  me  a  name,  left  me  to  the  charity  of  the  world — and 
I  should  only  have  turned  from  the  thought  of  him  with  scorn. 
But  it  was  on  her  that  his  cruelty  and  his  baseness  fell.  It  was 
that  pure  and  noble  soul  which  felt  the  weight  of  his  iron  hand — 
it  was  that  gentle  heart  which  he  made  to  taste  the  bitterness  of 
death  !  Do  you  wonder  " — she  flung  her  arms  upward  in  a  gest- 
ure unconsciously  tragical — "  that,  when  I  heard  it,  I  consecrated 
my  life  to  a  single  purpose — the  purpose  hy  some  way,  some 
means,  to  make  him  suffer  a  part  at  least  of  what  he  had  in- 
flicted? It  seems  wild — it  seems  mad  to  you,  no  doubt— but  I 
have  never  doubted  my  power  to  do  so.  He  is  great  and  magnifi- 


12±  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

cent  in  the  world,  and  I  am  poor  and  obscure,  but  I  feel  as  if  the 
strength  of  a  thousand  was  in  my  veins  when  I  think  of  finding  a 
shaft  that  shall  pierce  even  his  armor  of  selfishness.  I  have  said 
to  myself  a  hundred  times,  '  If  I  live,  it  shall  be  for  that  end 
alone  1 '  And  now  she  has  asked  me  with  her  dying  breath  to  for- 
give him!  O  my  mother,  how  can  I?— how  can  I?  You  for- 
get that  I  am  Ms  daughter — not  an  angel  like  you !  " 

So  the  wild  storm  went  on,  and  as  Mrs.  Falconer  listened — 
moved  with  the  deepest  compassion,  yet  appalled  by  the  revela- 
tion of  resentment  like  a  flaming  sword — she  felt  that  it  was  no 
ordinary  strength  of  nature,  whether  for  good  or  for  evil,  which 
was  here,  and  that,  if  ever  the  good  triumphed  over  the  evil,  it 
would  be  in  no  easy  fight.  An  instinct  told  her  that  it  was  fore- 
seeing this  which  made  the  mother  exact  the  promise  she  had 
carried  with  her  into  eternity.  The  anguish  of  conflict  was  upon 
the  untried  spirit  now — a  strange  contrast  to  the  ineffable  peace 
that  was  on  the  pale,  beautiful  face  lying  in  its  coffin  so  near  at 
hand — and  it  would  be  long  before  the  scale  turned  for  victory  or 
defeat.  Surely,  thought  the  spectator,  it  was  a  singular  fate 
which  had  thus  made  of  two  parents  the  embodiments  of  evil  and 
of  good  on  the  battle-ground  of  a  soul.  Would  the  influence  of 
the  mother  wane  as  time  went  on,  the  sense  of  wrong  deepen, 
grow  more  bitter  and  corrode  the  spirit,  as  it  is  the  nature  of 
wrong  to  do,  unless  the  soul  is  great  enough  to  rise  above  it  ? 
Who  could  tell?  Only  the  sweet,  triumphant  smile,  which  still 
lingered  on  the  lips  of  the  dead,  seemed  to  answer. 

It  was  on  the  softest  and  saddest  of  autumn  days  that  the  fu- 
neral took  place,  and  it  seemed  to  Stanhope  that  over  no  soul 
whicli  had  more  truly  triumphed  was  the  solemn  requiem  of  the 
Church  ever  said.  Some  such  thought  came  to  her  daughter  also 
— a  faint  gleam  of  spiritual  radiance  through  the  dense  cloud  of 
sorrow — as  she  knelt  in  the  dim  church,  and  heard  the  tones  from 
the  altar  like  a  remembered  dream.  What  memory  was  it  that 
stirred  even  at  this  moment?  The  hour  in  the  Chapelle  Expia- 
toire,  when  by  the  statue  of  the  murdered  queen  she  had  realized 
some  things  which  returned  to  her  now — the  brevity  of  earthly 
splendor,  the  enduring  value  of  the  merits  that  lie  hidden  in  suf- 
fering. Who  had  more  fully  made  those  merits  her  own,  than 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  125 

Bhe  whose  soul  had  now  gone  forth  to  meet  its  reward?  "And 
would  you  lessen  that  reward  if  you  could,  O  you  of  little  faith  ? " 
an  inward  voice  said.  It  was  a  lull  in  the  storm,  a  moment  of 
peace  sweet  but  transient ;  for  beyond  the  sanctuary  the  battle 
was  yet  to  be  fought.  Life  would  be  too  easy,  heaven  too  lightly 
gained,  if  the  victor's  crown  could  be  won  by  a  single  struggle. 
In  that  battle  the  heart's  best  blood  must  be  drained,  the  wearied 
soul  must  stand  to  its  arms  again  and  yet  again ;  there  will  be 
many  an  apparent  truce,  and  perhaps  many  a  sore  defeat,  before 
the  end — which  sometimes  seems  so  far — is  won  at  last. 

On  the  height  of  Montmartre  they  laid  her  to  rest,  who  had 
deserved  to  sleep  in  soil  made  sacred  by  the  blood  of  martyrs — a 
peaceful  height,  where  the  dead  lie  with  folded  hands,  while 
below  imperial  Paris  flashes  back  the  sunlight  from  her  myriad 
roofs  and  spires,  exults  in  her  multitudinous  life,  and  breaks  now 
and  then  into  wild  tumult  that  rocks  the  world,  but  never  stirs 
the  calm  sleepers  on  her  encircling  hills. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

THAT  hour  "  between  the  lights,"  which  is  charming  almost 
everywhere,  was  particularly  pleasant  in  Mrs.  Falconer's  boudoir 
toward  the  close  of  a  gray  day  of  mist  and  rain  a  fortnight  after 
Madame  Lescar's  death.  Outside  the  windows  low  clouds  were 
shortening  the  already  short  day,  but  within  all  was  warmth, 
fragrance,  brightness,  the  leaping  blaze  of  a  wood-fire  falling  on 
the  softly  mingled  tints  of  the  silken  hangings,  on  golden  em- 
broidery, on  the  beautiful  color  of  masses  of  flowers  here  and 
there.  The  mirrors  in  their  gleaming  crystal  frames  repeated  the 
scene  and  made  a  picture  of  it.  They  also  reflected  the  figures  of 
a  lady  and  gentleman  who  sat  near  the  fire — the  lady  leaning 
back  in  a  low  chair  with  the  light  playing  over  the  graceful  lines 
of  her  form,  the  sheen  of  her  satin  dress,  the  sparkling  jewels  on 
the  white  hand  that  held  a  screen  between  her  face  and  the  blaze. 
They  had  been  talking  for  several  minutes — and  she  now  said, 
meditatively,  "The  question  is,  what  will  be  the  best  thing  to  do 
with  her?" 


126  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

To  which  the  gentleman  answered :  "  I  do  not  see  the  neces- 
sity to  do  anything — unless  you  find  the  charge  more  than  you 
care  to  undertake.  That  might  reasonably  be ;  but — " 

"But  you  know  it  is  not  so,"  she  answered.  "No — what  I 
mean  is  that  I  think  it  would  be  a  good  thing  if  she  were  taken 
out  of  Paris.  Grief  must  have  its  own  way,  of  course,  wherever 
she  is — but  here,  perhaps,  worse  than  elsewhere." 

" But  how  is  she  to  be  taken  out  of  Paris?  "  asked  he,  a  little 
startled.  "  I  should  be  very  glad  to  do  that  or  anything  else  for 
her;  but  you  know  Mrs.  Grundy  would  have  something  to  say — " 

"You  are  stupid  to-day,"  said  the  lady.  "It  seems  to  me 
plain  that  when  I  say  she  ought  to  be  taken  out  of  Paris,  I  mean 
that  /  will  take  her." 

"Oh,  but  I  can  not  consent  to  that,"  he  said.  "For  you  to 
leave  Paris,  your  amusements,  your  friends,  your  delightful  quar- 
ters— it  is  impossible  !  " 

"It  is  not  at  all  impossible,"  she  replied,  serenely.  "  And  it  is 
not  a  very  great  sacrifice,  either,  for  Paris  is  dull  in  winter.  I 
have  thought  of  going  to  Italy  for  some  time,  and  Lady  Falconer 
is  urging  me  to  take  a  villa  at  Nice.  But  I  do  not  think  that  Nice 
would  be  the  place  for  Irene." 

"It  would  be  the  place  for  Lady  Falconer,"  said  Stanhope. 
"She  would  find  it  very  convenient,  if  you  were  established 
there,  to  be  your  guest  for  the  winter." 

"  And  I  should  be  very  glad  for  her  to  be,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer. 
"  The  question,  however,  is  about  Irene." 

"You  are  very  good  not  to  say  that  I  am  bad-tempered  as 
well  as  stupid  to-day,"  he  observed,  smiling.  "After  all,  I  am 
afraid  Lady  Falconer  is  right — that  Irene  will  be  an  embarrassing 
charge  to  you.  Already  the  consideration  of  her  interferes  with 
your  plans  for  the  winter.  But  for  her,  you  would  go  to  Nice 
with  Lady  Falconer,  and  luxuriate  in  all  its  warmth  and  brilliance 
and  social  gayety." 

"Perhaps  so,"  she  said.  "But  surely  it  is  better  to  do  a  little 
good  if  one  can,  than  to  enjoy  a  winter  in  Nice.  And  my  oppor- 
tunities for  being  of  use  are  so  few !  I  can  give  money — but 
money  is  nothing  when  the  giving  entails  no  personal  sacrifice. 
I  never  could  see  that  there  was  much  merit  in  presenting  part  of 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  127 

one's  abundance  to  charity.  However,  what  I  want  to  say  is 
this:  of  course,  I  could  go  to  Nice,  taking  Irene  with  me,  but 
it  seems  to  me  that,  of  all  places  to  jar  on  a  wounded  spirit,  that 
would  be  the  worst ;  whereas,  of  all  places  to  heal  such  a  spirit, 
am  I  not  right  in  thinking  that  Rome  is  best? " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  you  are  right.  And  are  you  going  to 
Kome?" 

"  I  am  thinking  of  it.  I  should  like  to  go  myself — I  have 
never  been  there  but  once,  and  that  not  for  long — and  I  believe  it 
would  be  the  place  for  Irene.  If  you  agree  with  me,  we  may 
regard  the  matter  as  settled." 

"I  certainly  agree  with  you."  He  paused  before  adding: 
"  And  I  should  like  to  say  how  much  I  feel  your  kindness  to  this 
poor  girl.  We  have  been  friends  a  long  time,  so  I  suppose  I  may 
tell  you  that  it  has  made  me  admire  you  more  than  ever." 

"  It  seems  to  me  a  very  simple  thing,"  she  replied — though  she 
blushed  a  little — "  and  that  it  should  seem  to  you  at  all  a  remark- 
able one  only  proves  what  a  selfish  world  this  is." 

"It  is  certainly  a  very  selfish  world,"  he  answered.  "Here 
is  Lady  Falconer,  for  example,  who  considers  you — " 

"In  plain  language,  a  fool,"  she  said,  with  a  laugh.  "  Accord- 
ing to  her  code — and  she  means  no  harm  by  it,  either — I  should 
be  thinking  only  of  amusement,  and  social  power,  and  admiration. 
Don't  misunderstand  me,"  she  added,  hastily.  "  Don't  for  a  mo- 
ment imagine  that  I  do  not  think  of  these  things !  I  think  of 
them — I  am  afraid  I  like  them — far  too  much ;  but  still  I  have  a 
little  time  for  other  things  besides." 

"  Who  knows  that  better  than  I  ? "  he  asked.  "  You  have 
time  to  cultivate  your  intellect  and  to  listen  to  your  heart.  For 
the  rest,  that  you  are  an  ambitious  woman  I  always  knew." 

"  You  mean  that  you  always  said.     There  is  a  difference." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  are  not  ?  " 

"I?  Oh,  BO!  I  have  not  the  presumption  to  believe  that  I 
can  read  my  own  character  as  well  as  you  can  read  it." 

"  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  you  have  the  presumption  to 
be  laughing  at  me,"  replied  he.  "  But  you  dare  not  say  that  you 
are  not  an  ambitious  woman.  " 

She  did  not  answer  for  a  moment.     The  hand  which  held  the 


123  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

screen  had  dropped  into  her  lap,  and  the  firelight  played  over  her 
face,  over  the  fair,  rounded  cheeks,  the  soft,  well-cut  mouth,  the 
deep  violet  eyes  that  were  full  of  thoughtfulness. 

"Long  ago,"  she  said,  "when  I  was  a  child — hefore  my  uncle 
sent  for  me,  or  life  in  any  remarkable  manner  opened  before  me 
— I  never  dreamed  of  any  ordinary  fate  for  myself,  of  settling  con- 
tentedly to  the  course  of  existence  which  I  saw  all  around  me :  I 
always  imagined  wider  flight,  brilliant  opportunities,  some  vague, 
exalted  destiny  in  store  for  me.  How  far  these  fancies  shaped 
my  life  I  do  not  know ;  nor  yet  how  far  they  constitute  me  an 
ambitious  woman  by  nature.  I  only  know  that  I  dream  no  more 
of  them  now." 

"  There  is  no  need  to  dream  any  more,"  he  replied.  "  Dreams 
give  place  to  realities ;  and  the  realities  are  yours  in  the  fullest 
sense.  The  wider  flight  has  been  taken,  the  brilliant  opportuni- 
ties are  in  your  hand,  the  exalted  destiny  is  within  your  reach — if 
you  are  only  wise  in  your  choice." 

There  must  have  been  more  significance  than  he  intended  in 
his  tone,  for  she  looked  at  him  quickly. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that? "  she  asked.  "  What  choice  do  you 
suppose  I  am  thinking  of  making?  " 

"None  immediately,"  he  replied.  "But  in  time  you  will 
make  one,  and  I  should  like  it  to  be  wise  as  well  as  brilliant." 

"  And  you  probably  distrust  the  judgment  of  such  a  worldly 
woman,"  said  she,  with  a  smile  which  he  did  not  quite  under- 
stand. "  Eh  bien,  I  will  promise  to  consult  you  when  the  time 
arrives.  And  now  tell  me,  if  we  go  to  Rome,  is  there  any  proba- 
bility of  seeing  you  there  ?  " 

"I  am  afraid  there  will  be  every  probability,  if  you  go,"  he 
answered.  "  I  am  such  an  inveterate  wanderer  that  one  place  is 
much  the  same  as  another  to  me ;  and  if  I  miss  my  corner  in  your 
salon,  Paris  will  be  dull  to  me  indeed." 

"Can  Paris  ever  be  dull  to  you?"  she  asked.  "I  do  not  be- 
lieve it." 

"Not  absolutely,  perhaps,  but  relatively,"  he  replied.  "  And 
when  I  said  all  places  are  alike  to  me,  I  should  have  excepted 
Rome,  for  which  I  have  a  passion  that  grows  insistent  now  and 
then  in  its  demands.  Yes,  I  shall  be  glad  to  go  there ;  I  shall  be 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  129 

glad  to  see  the  yellow  houses  and  the  narrow  streets,  the  great 
sweep  of  the  Campagna,  and  the  sun  setting  behind  the  dome  of 
St.  Peter's  from  the  Pincian  Hill." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  you  talk  so,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  satisfac- 
tion, "  for  how  pleasant  it  will  be  to  have  you  there  as  one's 
guide  and  cicerone!  And  now,  the  matter  being  arranged,  I  will 
go  and  send  Irene  to  you." 

He  could  not  refuse  to  allow  her  to  do  so,  though  in  his  inmost 
soul  he  knew  that  he  dreaded  the  interview.  He  had  not  seen 
the  girl  for  several  days,  and  when  he  saw  her  last  she  had  not 
been  able  to  control  herself,  and  her  passionate  grief  had  moved 
him  to  that  poignant,  unavailing  pity  which  is  too  painful  to  be 
willingly  renewed.  He  had  realized  then  very  forcibly  his  deep 
indebtedness  to  Mrs.  Falconer — for,  in  the  midst  of  his  pity  it  had 
occurred  to  him  to  wonder  what  he  would  have  done  had  such  a 
charge  been  left  upon  his  hands  alone  ! 

But  when  she  entered,  a  few  minutes  later,  he  saw  that  he  had 
not  to  fear  the  repetition  of  such  a  scene.  She  was  very  pale— so 
pale  that  the  young  face  looked  more  as  if  carved  out  of  mar- 
ble than  made  of  flesh — and  the  deep  mournfulness  of  her  eyes 
was  like  a  revelation  of  grief;  but  her  manner  was  composed, 
though  sad.  He  was  more  than  ever  struck  with  her  like- 
ness to  her  mother  as  she  crossed  the  room  in  her  sweeping 
black  draperies  and  held  out  a  cold  little  hand  to  him.  He 
drew  her  to  the  fire,  and  made  her  sit  down  in  one  of  the 
luxurious  chairs ;  and,  after  a  moment,  it  was  she  who  began  to 
speak. 

"It  is  very  good  of  you  to  come  to  see  me,"  she  said  ;  "  and  I 
will  not  distress  you  again  as  I  did  the  last  time.  Whatever  one 
suffers,  it  is  very  weak  not  to  control  one's  self.  I  felt  that  after 
you  were  gone." 

"Believe  me," he  answered,  gently,  "  I  was  only  distressed  for 
your  sake,  and  also  because  I  felt  deeply  with  you.  That,  I  am 
sure,  you  know." 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "I  have  not  been  blind  or  deaf.  I  know 
all  that  you  have  done — all  that  you  have  undertaken  to  do.  I 
am  very  grateful  for  the  first ;  and  for  the  last  I  can  only  promise 
that  I  will  give  you  as  little  trouble  as  possible." 


130  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

The  simplicity  and  humility  of  these  words  touched  him  ex- 
ceedingly. 

"My  dear  child,"  he  said,  "I  beg  that  you  will  never  men- 
tion that  word  again.  I  accepted  willingly  "  (at  the  moment  he 
thought  that  he  had!)  "the  trust  which  your  mother  gave  me; 
and  it  involves  nothing  which  merits  the  name  of  trouble.  Since 
I  sent  you  a  copy  of  her  will,  you  know  exactly  the  position  in 
which  she  has  left  you." 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  sadly  but  quietly,  "  and  every  direction  she 
has  given,  every  wish  she  has  expressed,  I  will  follow." 

"  Then  you  see  my  office  is  as  light  as  possible.  I  have  really 
little  to  do  besides  looking  after  your  business  affairs  and  paying 
over  your  income.  "With  regard  to  your  home — which  it  is  for  me 
to  appoint  until  your  majority — you  are  aware  that  Mrs.  Falconer 
has  offered  you  a  home  with  her,  and  that  your  mother  sanctioned 
and  approved  of  the  arrangement." 

"Yes,"  she  said  again.  "Mrs.  Falconer  told  me,  and  she  is  so 
kind  that  I  have  been  glad  to  be  with  her  for  a  time.  But,  as  I 
begin  to  rouse  myself  and  look  the  world  in  the  face,  it  seems  to 
me  that,  since  I  have  no  claim  upon  her,  such  kindness  is  greater 
than  I  ought  to  accept — than  ought  to  be  permitted." 

"But  you  have  just  said  that  you  will  fulfill  your  mother's 
wishes,"  he  answered,  "  and  this  was  most  especially  her  wish.  I 
have  seldom  seen  her  so  moved  as  when  I  told  her  that  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner would  take  charge  of  you." 

"  That  was  because  she  thought  of  me"  said  the  girl,  with  the 
same  quiet  sadness.  "  But  I  should  try  to  think  of  others — should 
not  I  ?  And,  although  Mrs.  Falconer  is  kindness  itself,  I  feel  that 
I  have  no  right  to  burden  her  with  my  sorrow." 

"  Mrs.  Falconer  does  not  consider  it  a  burden,"  he  replied. 
"  She  is  already  much  attached  to  you,  and  she  has  long  desired 
such  a  companion  as  you  will  prove.  But  that  is  not  the  point," 
he  added,  hastily,  as  he  saw  her  about  to  speak.  "  It  is  that  the 
arrangement  was  made  by  your  mother  herself;  and  she  declared 
that  it  lifted  from  her  mind  her  heaviest  anxiety  with  regard  to 
your  future.  If  you  broke  it,  therefore,  you  would  be  undoing 
her  work." 

"I  would  never  do  that,"  said  the  girl,  in  a  low  voice.     "I 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  131 

only  felt  as  if  I  ought  to  think  of  others.  But  even  if  she  had 
made  no  such  arrangement,  I  should  suhmit  to  your  decision; 
for  that  is  what  she  desired,  and  it  is  all  I  can  do  for  her  now." 

" I  am  sure,"  he  said,  "that  after  a  little  while  you  will  recog- 
nize, what  I  do  now,  that  nothing  better  could  possibly  be  de- 
sired for  you." 

She  did  not  answer.  It  was  evident  that  she  felt  little  inter- 
est in  tbe  matter;  and  so  for  an  instant  there  was  a  pause,  during 
which  Stanhope  observed  with  compassion  the  forlorn  aspect  of 
her  face,  and  the  already  wasted  outlines  of  the  figure  that  in  its 
severe  mourning  made  a  strange  contrast  to  the  delicate  luxury 
all  around  it. 

"  You  look  badly,"  he  said  at  last,  in  a  tone  so  kind  that  it  re- 
deemed the  words  from  abruptness.  "I  am  afraid  that  you  are 
ill.  Is  there  nothing  that  I  can  do  for  you  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head  with  a  hopeless  gesture.  "  I  am  not  ill," 
she  answered ;  "  and  there  is  nothing  you  or  any  one  else  can  do 
for  me.  I  look  badly  because  I  can  neither  eat  nor  sleep ;  but 
perhaps  I  may  get  over  that  after  a  while."  Then  she  looked  at 
him  wistfully.  "  I  am  trying  to  realize  that  this  is  to  go  on — that 
I  must  live  without  her,"  she  said  ;  "  and  it  is  hard  to  do.  It  seems 
so  useless.  What  is  my  life  worth  to  me — or  any  one  else  ?  I 
had  only  one  thing  on  earth,  and  I  have  lost  that." 

"Poor  child!"  he  said,  half  under  his  breath.  It  did  not 
need  her  words  to  make  him  understand  the  peculiar  desolation  of 
her  position,  yet  they  seemed  to  move  him  with  a  fresh  sense  of 
it,  and  he  felt  unable  to  point  out  the  manifest  truth  that  life 
might  yet  have  other  meaning  and  other  duties  for  her.  He  had 
too  keen  a  comprehension  of  what  she  was  suffering  to  hint  even 
remotely  of  the  inevitable  hour  of  comfort.  After  a  moment  it 
was  she  who  spoke  again. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  wrong  to  feel  in  this  way ;  hut,  you  see,  I  am 
like  a  child  that  misses— its  mother's  hand — in  the  dark — "  Her 
lip  quivered  piteously  for  a  moment ;  then,  controlling  herself  with 
an  effort,  she  went  on :  "  But  I  promised  not  to  distress  you,  and 
I  am  afraid  that  I  have.  You  must  forgive  me.  I  will  do  better 
when  you  come  again." 

"There  is  no  need  to  do  better,"  he  answered.     "You  have 


132  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

been  as  brave  as  I  knew  you  could  be.  A  great  grief  unnerves 
the  strongest.  And  I  fear  that  your  days  have  been  long  and 
dreary.  Have  you  seen  no  one  but  Mrs.  Falconer  ?  " 

"  No  one — except  Mrs.  Vance,  who  has  been  very  kind." 

"Then  you  have  not  joined  tbe  household  at  all?  " 

"  No.  Mrs.  Falconer  begged  me  not  to  do  so  if  it  would  be 
an  effort ;  and  I  was  glad  to  be  spared  meeting  any  one." 

"Of  course,  I  would  not  counsel  your  meeting  her  guests," 
said  Stanhope,  after  a  short  pause,  "  but,  when  she  has  only  her 
usual  circle,  I  think  it  would  be  well  for  you  to  join  it.  If  you 
are  to  make  one  of  her  household,  it  is  better  to  fall  into  your 
place ;  and  the  longer  absolute  seclusion  is  maintained,  the  harder 
it  will  be  to  end  it." 

He  saw  that  she  shrank  from  the  counsel  which  it  had  cost 
him  an  effort  to  offer;  but  presently  she  looked  up  with  pa- 
thetic acquiescence. 

"No  doubt  you  are  right,"  she  said.  "It  is  difficult  not  to  bo 
selfish  when  one  is  sorrowful.  And,  after  all,  it  does  not  matter. 
Nothing  seems  to  matter — now." 

It  was  with  those  words  in  his  ears  that  he  took  leave,  carry- 
ing the  memory  of  the  pale  young  face  with  him  out  into  the 
rushing  world  of  the  Paris  streets. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THERE  was  one  person,  at  least,  who  welcomed  the  intelli- 
gence of  Irene's  transfer  to  Mrs.  Falconer's  protection  with  senti- 
ments of  the  most  sincere  gratification.  This  was  Lionel  Erne, 
who,  being  familiar  as  a  brother,  or  the  traditional  tame  cat,  in 
Mrs.  Falconer's  house,  naturally  felt  that  the  advantages  of  this 
familiarity  would  not  be  lessened  by  the  presence  of  Mademoi- 
selle Lescar  therein.  Indeed,  it  is  to  be  feared  that  his  state  of 
feeling,  during  the  fortnight  following  Madame  Lescar's  death, 
was  rather  more  elated  than  became  one  who  had  expressed  so 
much  devotion  for  that  lady.  He  haunted  the  apartment  in  the 
Avenue  Montaigne,  and,  as  day  followed  day  without  the  ap- 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  133 

pearance  of  Irene,  his  impatience  made  him  very  much  of  a  nui- 
sance to  Mrs.  Falconer* 

It  commended  him,  however,  to  the  interest  and  good  graces 
of  Lady  Falconer,  who,  reading  the  situation  with  a  glance, 
leaped  at  once  to  the  most  practical  conclusion.  "  The  thing 
settles  itself  perfectly,"  she  said  to  her  sister-in-law.  "  This 
young  man— who  is  very  clever,  and  no  doubt  eligible— is  plainly 
in  love  with  your  interesting  protegee,  and  you  have  really  noth- 
ing to  do  but  arrange  the  marriage  and  so  relieve  yourself  in  a 
satisfactory  manner  of  a  responsibility  which  you  should  never 
have  assumed." 

Mrs.  Falconer  laughed.  To  her,  as  we  are  aware,  such  a 
plan  had  already  suggested  itself,  but  she  did  not  feel  inclined  to 
take  this  lively  lady  into  her  confidence.  "The  matter,"  she 
said,  "  is  not  quite  so  simple  as  it  appears  to  you.  In  the  first 
place,  you  have  not  yet  seen  my  '  interesting  protegee,'1  whom  I 
think  you  will  admit,  when  you  do  see  her,  is  not  exactly  a  per- 
son to  be  married  off-hand — even  to  the  most  clever  and  eligible 
parti.  In  the  second  place,  Mr.  Stanhope,  who  is  her  guardian, 
would  have  a  word  to  say  on  the  subject.  And  in  the  third  place, 
I  am  by  no  means  certain  that  the  idea  of  matrimony  has  ever 
suggested  itself  to  Lionel.  His  fancy  is  easily  attracted,  and  he 
raves  over  one  woman  after  another — that  is  all." 

"But  it  need  not  remain  all,"  said  Lady  Falconer,  who  did 
not  surrender  an  idea  easily  when  once  it  had  entered  her  head. 
"  A  woman  as  clever  as  you  are,  my  dear,  could  easily  bring  the 
matter  about.  You  have  the  two  people  concerned  under  your 
roof — for  I  am  sure  Mr.  Erne  spends  most  of  his  time  under  it — 
and  in  your  hand." 

"  Because  they  are  under  my  roof,  it  does  not  follow  that  they 
are  in  my  hand,"  answered  Mrs.  Falconer.  "And,  as  I  have 
said,  Irene  is  intrusted  to  me  by  Mr.  Stanhope — " 

"Oh,  Mr.  Stanhope!  "  said  her  ladyship,  in  a  tone  which  did 
not  imply  a  very  complimentary  opinion  of  that  gentleman.  "  It 
will  be  easy  to  make  Mm  agree  to  anything  you  choose." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  with  an  air  of 
amusement.  "  I  should  never  have  imagined  that  any  one  could 
give  Mr.  Stanhope  that  character." 


134:  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"It  would  depend,  of  course,  on  who  attempted  to  make  him 
agree,"  said  the  other.  "  I  could  not  do  so.  But  I  am  sure  that 
you  could,  if  you  cared  to  try." 

"It  is  fortunate,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  with  another  laugh, 
"  that  I  do  not  care  to  try ;  for,  if  I  did,  I  should  certainly  find 
that  I  had  no  such  power." 

Lady  Falconer  lifted  her  eyebrows,  but,  heyond  this  mute 
expression  of  opinion,  made  no  rejoinder.  She  had  in  her  own 
mind  conceived  very  clearly  the  reason  why  Stanhope  declined 
to  assist  in  arranging  a  marriage  between  Mrs.  Falconer  and  the 
Marquis  de  Chateaumesnil,  but,  being  in  doubt  how  far  her  knowl- 
edge was  shared  by  her  sister-in-law,  she  had  decided  to  be  reti- 
cent— at  least  for  the  present. 

It  was  soon  after  this  conversation  that  Irene,  in  accordance 
with  Stanhope's  advice,  emerged  from  her  seclusion  to  face  the 
new  life  in  which  she  was  to  play  a  part  altogether  strange  to 
her.  After  Erne,  the  person  most  gratified  by  her  appearance 
was  Lady  Falconer,  who  had  a  strong  curiosity  to  see  one 
around  whom  so  much  romantic  interest  clustered.  "  Though,  no 
doubt,  I  shall  be  very  much  disappointed,"  she  said  to  herself. 
"One  always  is  when  one  looks  for  anything  remarkable."  It 
was,  therefore,  with  something  like  a  shock  of  surprise  that  she 
found  her  curiosity  more  justified  than  she  had  imagined  possible. 
Her  practiced  glance  at  once  appreciated  all  the  beauty,  all  the 
distinctive  charm  of  the  girl — and,  so  appreciating,  she  failed 
more  than  ever  to  understand  Mrs.  Falconer's  action  and  motive. 
"What  can  she  mean?  "  thought  the  woman  of  the  world,  sweep- 
ing aside  as  altogether  unworthy  of  attention  those  considerations 
of  old  friendship  which  Stanhope  had  suggested.  "As  Prince 
Waldegrave's  daughter,  this  girl  would  be  a  brilliant  success;  but, 
as  Mademoiselle  Lescar,  she  can  only  excite  curious  attention. 
"What  is  Sydney  thinking  of?  It  seems  a  caprice  without  reason 
— unless  Mr.  Stanhope's  connection  with  the  matter  gives  it  a  rea- 
son. Why  have  I  been  so  blind  as  not  to  suspect  him  before  ?  " 
Then  followed  the  reflection,  "  And  why  was  I  so  utterly  ~bete  as 
to  lay  open  my  plan  to  him  ?  " 

Meanwhile,  it  may  be  imagined  that  to  Irene  the  scrutiny 
which  judged  her  was  not  only  unheeded,  but  wholly  unobserved. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  135 

She  was  not  even  conscious  of  the  keen  glances  of  Lady  Falconer's 
bright  blue  eyes.  Deep  grief  is  like  a  thick  veil  drawn  between 
the  senses  and  the  outer  world.  We  know  that  the  things  of  life 
are  going  on,  but  the  sound  of  them  comes  to  dull  ears,  and  for 
the  time  we  wear  an  armor  of  indifference  which  no  shaft  can 
pierce.  So  it  was  with  the  girl  who  sat  in  Mrs.  Falconer's  draw- 
ing-room, and  heard  the  flow  of  light  talk  and  laughter  around 
her — feeling,  the  while,  as  if  divided  from  the  talkers  by  an  im- 
measurable gulf  of  distance.  Erne  recognized  this  the  first  time 
that  he  took  her  hand — for,  whatever  else  he  lacked,  he  did  not 
lack  quickness  of  perception.  All  the  woful  change  in  her  struck 
him  as  it  had  already  struck  Stanhope.  The  radiance,  like  light 
shining  through  alabaster,  the  lustrous  eyes,  the  flashing  smiles 
of  the  face  he  saw  last  were  gone.  It  was  a  poor,  faint  smile  into 
which  the  lips  strove  to  fashion  themselves  to  greet  him,  and  the 
eyes  seemed  to  have  wept  away  all  their  luster.  Not  all  their 
beauty,  however,  nor  yet  their  kindness.  They  were  full  of  the 
last  as  she  rose  to  meet  him,  and  stood — a  slight  figure  in  deepest 
black — against  the  rich  beauty  of  the  long  salon. 

"  I  am  not  sorry  to  see  you,"  she  said,  with  wistful  gentleness, 
"  and,  if  that  does  not  sound  very  cordial,  you  must  forgive  it, 
since  there  is  not  any  one  to  whom  I  could  say  more,  and  few  to 
whom  I  could  say  as  much.  But  you  knew  my  dear  mother — 
you  loved — I  am  sure  you  have  regretted  her.  There  are  so  few  " 
— with  a  catching  of  the  breath  that  narrowly  escaped  being  a 
sob — "  who  have  done  so,  that  my  heart  goes  out  to  all  who  have 
been  in  any  degree  companions  in  my  grief." 

"I  do  not  think,"  the  young  man  answered  in  a  low  voice, 
"  that  any  one  could  have  felt  more  sorrow  for  her — more  sym- 
pathy for  you— than  I  have." 

This  was  certainly  a  bold  assertion,  but  the  boldness  had  its 
reward,  for  Irene  thanked  bun  by  a  look  which  thrilled  him  with 
many  sensations — the  pity  which  is  akin  to  tenderness  among 
them,  and  the  sense  that  their  friendship  had  made  a  great  stride. 
He  knew  that  the  girl's  devotion  to  her  mother  represented  all 
the  ardor  of  her  nature— it  was  the  first  thing  that  he  had  learned 
about  her,  the  first  message  that  her  voice  brought  him ;  and  he 
felt  that,  even  in  the  remotest  association  with  her  grief,  he  had 


136  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

gained  much.  It  was  a  bond  of  sympathy  that  time  could  not 
lessen. 

With  a  fine  instinct,  he  did  not  eay  more  to  her,  but  went 
up  to  Mrs.  Falconer,  who  greeted  him  with  unusual  gravity, 
though  a  smile  hovered  round  the  corners  of  her  lips.  "  I  have 
something  to  tell  you  that  I  fear  will  be  a  shock  to  you,"  she 
said  presently. 

"  What  ?  "  he  asked,  in  sudden  consternation.  His  heart  sank 
— he  hardly  knew  what  he  feared,  but  he  was  filled  with  appre- 
hension that  was  not  reassured  even  by  the  lurking  smile.  He 
knew  that  people  sometimes  find  food  for  amusement  in  matters 
that  are  serious  enough  to  others. 

"  It  is  nothing  very  alarming,"  she  answered,  "  only  I  am 
afraid  it  will  interfere  a  little  with  your  plans  for  the  winter.  I 
am  sure  you  would  have  given  us  a  good  many  of  your  spare 
hours — and  you  know  that  I  am  always  glad  to  see  you — but, 
unfortunately,  I  am  going  to  leave  Paris." 

He  did  not  observe  her  raillery :  the  fact  overwhelmed  him. 
"  Leave  Paris  !  "  he  ejaculated.  "  When  ? — and  for  how  long?  " 

"  I  have  hardly  thought  of  when,"  she  replied,  "  but  I  suppose 
in  a  few  weeks— as  soon  as  I  can  make  the  necessary  arrange- 
ments. As  for  how  long — well,  for  the  whiter,  certainly." 

"  And  does  Mademoiselle  Lescar  go  with  you?  " 

"  Naturally.     She  is  one  of  my  household  now." 

"  What  does  it  mean  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  blending  of  surprise 
and  injury.  "Why  can  you  not  be  satisfied?  Why  are  you 
going  to  run  away  as  soon — as  soon,  almost,  as  you  are  settled  ?  " 

"  It  is  very  flattering  that  you  should  feel  my  departure  so 
much,"  she  said  with  a  laugh.  "  But,  you  see,  Paris  ia  very  dis- 
agreeable in  winter.  I  made  up  my  mind  last  year  that  I  would 
not  endure  it  again.  Sc  I  am  going  to  Italy." 

"  To  Italy !  "  he  repeated— expression  both  of  face  and  tone 
changing  like  magic.  "What  a  capital  idea!  It  is  just  what  I 
was — what  I  am  thinking  of  myself." 

"  Indeed !  "  said  she,  with  a  strong  flavor  of  incredulity  in  the 
expression.  "  And  may  I  ask  to  what  part  of  Italy  you  are 
going  ? " 

"  I  really  have  not  thought  at  all,"  he  answered,  cheerfully. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  137 

"  I  am  quite  ready  to  go  anywhere.  I  should  be  delighted  if  you 
would  make  me  useful  and  let  me  be  your  escort." 

"No  doubt,"  she  replied.  "But  there  are  one  or  two  trifling 
objections  to  that.  I  understand  of  exactly  how  old  a  date  your 
resolution  of  going  to  Italy  is ;  so,  at  the  risk  of  appearing  rude, 
I  must  beg  that  you  will  remain  in  Paris  and  devote  yourself,  if 
you  like,  to  Yiolet  Dysart." 

"But  Miss  Dysart  is  going  to  Italy — she  told  me  so  last 
night,"  returned  he,  smiling.  "Oh,  on  my  honor,  I  assure  you! 
She  is  going  to  Nice  with  the  Baroness  Bodenbach." 

"Nice  is  in  France." 

"A  geographical  (or,  rather,  a  political)  fiction.  Nice  is  as 
much  in  Italy  as  Naples  is.  I  presume,  however,  from  the  cor- 
rection, that  you  are  not  going  there  ?  " 

"  No — I  am  going  to  Eome." 

"  If  I  were  a  school-boy,  I  would  clap  my  hands!  Indeed,  the 
gravity  of  age  would  not  deter  me,  but  the  fear  of  shocking 
Mademoiselle  Lescar  does.  My  dear  cousin,  you  have  had  the 
happiest  inspiration!  I  have  long  determined  to  spend  the  win- 
ter in  Kome — a  few  months'  study  in  those  galleries  will  be  of 
infinite  service  to  me — and  I  shall  be  charmed  to  be  there  with 
you." 

"  Come,  Lionel,  this  is  nonsense !  "  said  she,  laughing  in  spite 
of  herself.  "  You  must  see  that  I  can  not  allow  any  such  thing." 

"  But  this  is  absurdity !  "  said  he.  "  What  right  have  you  to 
say  whether  or  not  I  shall  go  to  Rome  to  pursue  my  study  of 
art?  And  if  it  chances  that  you  are  there — " 

"  It  will  be  no  chance  at  all,"  she  said,  more  gravely.  "You 
know  that  you  never  thought  of  going  until  you  heard  that  we 
were  to  be  there.  Of  course,  if  it  had  been  an  honest  chance,  I 
should  have  been  glad  ;  but  as  it  is —  You  see,  I  am  responsible 
about  Irene,  and  Mr.  Stanhope  might  think  that  it  was  some 
plan." 

"Mr.  Stanhope!  "  said  the  young  man,  in  much  the  same  tone 
that  Lady  Falconer  had  used.  "  Who  cares  anything  about  Mr. 
Stanhope?  And  what  plan  could  there  be?  Do  you  think  I 
want  to  devour  Mademoiselle  Lescar?  " 

"Not  exactly — only,  perhaps,  to  make  love  to  her,"  answered 


138  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

Mrs.  Falconer,  with  a  smile.  But,  as  the  words  were  uttered,  she 
was  surprised  by  the  change  that  came  over  his  face.  The  laugh- 
ter died  out  of  it— he  seemed  to  shrink,  almost  as  a  girl  might 
have  shrank. 

"  I  don't  think,"  he  said,  "that  you  understand  at  all  how  she 
affects  me.    It  is  not  in  that  way.     The  mere  term  '  make  love 
seems  like  desecration,  applied  to  her." 

"Indeed!"  replied  Mrs.  Falconer.  "I  knew  that  you  had 
poetical  ideas  about  her,  hut  I  was  not  aware  that  you  regarded 
her  as  so  ethereal.  I  presume,  that  this  is  the  aesthetic  mode  of 
showing  admiration." 

"There  is  nothing  easier  than  to  laugh  at  aesthetics,"  he 
answered,  flushing  a  little.  "  But  we  who  believe  in  it  have  some 
subtile  perceptions  and  pleasures  which  atone  to  us  for  all  ridicule. 
I  suppose  I  can  hardly  make  you  comprehend  my  feeling  for  Ma- 
demoiselle Lescar — " 

"I  am  afraid,  indeed,  it  is  too  subtile,"  said  she. 

"But,"  he  went  on,  "the  charm  she  has  for  me  is  not  in  the 
least  like  the  charm  of  other  women.  I  can  make  love— oh,  yes, 
by  the  hour — to  Violet  Dysart.  But  to  her  I  can  only  offer  such 
silent  homage  as  Dante  offered  to  Beatrice.  You  remember  that 
his  love,  so  fruitful  in  words  on  paper,  was  speechless  toward  its 
object." 

"  It  is  something  I  never  expected  of  you,"  said  his  cousin,  with 
an  irrepressible  laugh.  "  However,  if  you  will  promise  that  your 
homage  shall  continue  silent,  perhaps  I  may  allow  you  to  pursue 
your  studies  in  Rome  this  winter.  It  is  very  convenient  to  have 
a  man  at  one's  command,  whom  one  can  call  upon  for  service 
without  any  fear  of  misapprehension.  I  confess  that  I  shall  be 
very  sorry  when  you  go  back  to  America." 

"  I  have  not  gone  yet,"  said  he,  lightly;  "  nor  do  I  see  any  reason 
why  I  should  go.  But  I  will  make  my  preparations  for  Rome ; 
and  I  repeat  that  it  is  a  happy  inspiration  on  your  part." 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  139 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

TITEBE  is  room  for  much  difference  of  opinion  on  the  same 
subject.  Lady  Falconer  did  not  think  it  at  all  a  happy  inspiration 
on  the  part  of  her  sister-in-law  to  go  to  Rome.  To  her  it  was, 
on  the  contrary,  a  very  irritating  proceeding — and  one  which 
deepened  her  conviction  that  some  malign  influence  was  opposed 
to  her  wishes.  More  and  more  her  suspicion  turned  toward 
Stanhope.  It  was  for  the  sake  of  Irene  that,  instead  of  going  to 
sunny,  hrilliant  Nice,  Mrs.  Falconer  was  about  to  convey  her 
household  gods  to  the  Eternal  City,  where  Lady  Falconer  did  not 
care  to  go,  finding  it  dull,  and  having  that  dread  of  the  Roman 
climate  which  many  foreigners  feel.  But,  if  she  had  spoken  her 
thoughts  plainly,  she  would  have  said  that,  although  the  folly  of 
this  was  great  enough,  it  was  not  the  worst  point  in  the  affair. 
The  worst  point  was  that,  by  means  of  such  a  link  of  interest  and 
association  as  he  had  created  (so  she  believed),  Stanhope,  no 
doubt,  was  planning  to  increase  his  intimacy  and  influence  with 
Mrs.  Falconer,  for  an  ulterior  purpose  easily  to  be  conjectured. 
"  If  the  matter  goes  on  as  it  is  going  now,"  she  thought,  judging 
as  nine  people  out  of  ten  in  her  position  would  have  judged,  "it 
will  end  by  Sydney's  throwing  away  all  her  opportunities  in  life. 
"What  is  the  best  thing  for  me  to  do  ?  Shall  I  speak  to  Armand  ? 
But  there  would  be  little  good  in  urging  him  forward  until  I  have 
sounded  her.  I  am  afraid  that  it  will  not  be  easy;  but  I  must 
attempt  it." 

Braced  in  this  way  by  a  sense  of  duty,  she  proceeded  cautiously 
to  make  her  soundings.  As  she  had  anticipated,  it  did  not  prove 
an  easy  task.  Mrs.  Falconer  was  either  serenely  unconscious,  or 
determined  to  appear  so  ;  and  Lady  Falconer  was  driven  to  speak 
more  plainly  than  she  liked  or  desired,  before  eliciting  anything 
satisfactory.  Then  it  only  merited  that  term  from  being  at  least 
decided. 

"  I  wish,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  "that  I  could  induce  you  as  well 
as  other  people  to  believe  that  I  have  no  intention  of  marrying. 
There  is  not  a  man  in  the  world  who  could  give  me  anything  I 
want,  while  any  one  of  them  would  take  from  me  what  I  adore — 
my  liberty." 


140  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

She  looked  very  spirited  and  lovely  as  she  uttered  these  words ; 
"but  the  woman  who  heard  them  shook  her  head. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  if  you  will  pardon  my  plain  speaking, 
that  is  purely  and  simply  nonsense !  Have  I  lost  my  liberty  be- 
cause Sir  George  is  nominally  my  lord  and  master  ?  I  do  very 
much  as  I  please,  except  in  so  far  as  I  am  trammeled  by  circum- 
stances and  duty.  We  are  nil  trammeled  in  that  way.  Who  has 
absolute  liberty  ?  " 

"  I  have,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  There  is  nobody  to  say  to 
me  nay,  if  I  choose  to  start  to-morrow  for  the  north  pole." 

"  But  you  don't  choose  to  start,"  said  the  other,  practically. 
"  Therefore,  what  is  the  good  of  your  liberty  ?  It  is  a  visionary 
thing,  for  the  sake  of  which  you  are  risking  the  loss  of  substantial 
things." 

Mrs.  Falconer  laughed  and  shook  her  head.  They  had  been 
over  this  ground  before,  and  she  knew,  or  thought  she  knew, 
exactly  what  she  had  to  hear.  She  nestled  with  an  air  of  resig- 
nation deeper  into  the  silken  cushions  of  her  chair,  as  she  an- 
swered : 

"And  what  are  the  substantial  things  that  in  your  opinion 
outweigh  my  visionary  liberty  ?  If  it  is  social  rank  —  I  have 
enough  to  satisfy  me.  If  it  is  fortune — I  have  more  than  enough. 
My  money  is  absolutely  a  weight  upon  my  conscience.  I  wish  I 
could  give  half  of  it  away." 

"  That  is  quite  possible,"  said  Lady  Falconer ;  and,  as  she  spoke, 
ehe  thought  of  the  heavily  encumbered  acres  and  the  noble  old 
chateau  of  the  Marquis  de  Chateaumesnil.  "What  a  stream  of 
prosperity  this  great  American  fortune  could  pour  over  those 
lands,  into  those  ancient  walls !  Surely  it  was  worth  a  struggle 
— and  so  thinking,  she  nerved  herself  to  make  it. 

"  It  is  very  easy  to  give  away  money,"  she  went  on ;  "  but  to 
give  it  away  judiciously — that  is  not  so  easy.  Your  fortune  is  a 
great  responsibility — I  do  not  wonder  that  you  recognize  it — but 
there  is  the  more  reason  that  you  should  use  it  wisely.  It  would 
enable  you  to  make  a  great  marriage,  to  take  a  position  in  the 
world  that  I  do  not  flatter  you  when  I  say  you  are  fitted  to  take ; 
and  at  the  same  time  you  might  do  much  good — you  might  give 
aim  to  a  life — you  might  aid  a  career — '' 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  Ul 

There  she  paused.  After  all,  she  had  no  right  to  speak  for  the 
Marquis,  and  she  remembered  this  in  time.  But  her  last  words 
had  surprised  and  interested  Mrs.  Falconer.  Of  the  great  mar- 
riage, the  higher  position,  she  had  heard  before,  and  her  hand 
had  been  carelessly  stroking  a  little  dog  that  lay  in  her  lap  while 
Lady  Falconer  spoke  of  these  desirable  things ;  but  the  slender 
white  fingers  paused  in  their  motion,  and  she  looked  up  with  evi- 
dently roused  attention  at  the  words  "  give  aim  to  a  life — aid  a 
career  " —  that  was  something  new. 

"  May  I  ask,"  she  said,  "  what  you  mean  ?  To  whose  life 
might  I  give  an  aim  ? — whose  career  might  I  aid  ?  I  confess  I 
do  not  understand." 

Then  Lady  Falconer  was  driven  to  explain.  "  I  was  wrong, 
perhaps,  to  express  myself  so  plainly,"  she  said;  "but  I  was 
thinking  of  my  cousin  the  Marquis  de  Chateaumesnil.  Sydney, 
I  should  be  happy  if  I  could  see  you  married  to  him !  " 

"  Should  you  ?  "  said  Sydney,  smiling — perhaps  at  the  fervor 
of  the  other's  tone.  "  But  your  happiness  might  be  gained  at  the 
expense  of  mine — not  to  speak  of  that  of  the  Marquis.  Though, 
to  do  him  justice,  I  have  never  seen  in  him  the  least  indication  of 
such  a  desire  as  that  at  which  you  hint." 

"  I  can  not  imagine  any  one  more  fitted  to  make  you  happy," 
said  Lady  Falconer,  waiving  the  last  remark.  "And  you  might 
not  only  make  him  happy,  but  aid  his  life — stimulate  his  powers 
— make  him,  perhaps,  all  that  he  should  be." 

"You  are  prudent  to  qualify  your  prophecy  with  a  '  perhaps,' " 
said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  I  can  not  imagine  anything  more  unlikely 
than  that  I  should  have  any  power  to  influence  a  man  of  his  char- 
acter. Of  that  character,"  she  continued,  more  gravely,  "I  do 
not  care  to  speak.  He  has  never  made  it  necessary — I  hope  that 
he  will  never  make  it  necessary — that  I  should  do  so.  But,  since 
you  have  spoken  of  the  subject,  you  will  pardon  me  for  saying 
frankly  that  the  experiment  of  marrying  a  roue  is  one  which  I 
shall  never  repeat." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  The  blood  mounted  to  Lady 
Falconer's  face,  for  she  felt  herself  offended  in  a  double  sense. 
First,  at  the  plain  truth,  which  no  one  knew  better  than  herself, 
with  regard  to  the  dead  and  gone  Falconer  ;  secondly,  at  the  im- 


142  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

plied  opinion  of  the  Marquis  de  Chateanmesnil.  To  refrain  alto- 
gether from  expressing  her  irritation  was  impossible  ;  therefore, 
after  a  pause,  she  spoke  : 

"  I  am  at  no  loss  to  imagine,"  she  said,  coldly,  "  from  whom 
you  derived  your  opinion.  But,  without  saying  anything  of  the 
wisdom  of  attempting  to  judge  a  matter  of  which  you  can  know 
very  little,  I  may  suggest  that  it  is  never  well  to  trust  the  opinion 
of  interested  persons." 

Mrs.  Falconer  looked  surprised.  "  I  do  not  know  in  the  least 
to  whom  you  are  alluding,"  she  said.  "  I  have  derived  my  opinion 
of  the  Marquis  de  Chateaumesnil  from  common  report ;  and  I  am 
unable  to  imagine  what  '  interested  person '  you  can  have  in  your 
mind." 

"I  have  in  my  mind,"  replied  Lady  Falconer,  "the  person 
who,  unfortunately,  appears  to  influence  most  of  your  opinions 
and  acts— Mr.  Stanhope." 

The  violet  eyes  opened  a  little  wider.  "  Mr.  Stanhope !  " 
repeated  Sydney.  Then  she  laughed.  "  Forgive  me,"  she  said, 
"but  how  very  amusing!  And  what  a  specimen  of  the  accuracy 
nnd  justice  of  many  of  our  judgments!  Why,  Mr.  Stanhope  has 
always  been  the  warm  defender  of  the  Marquis — excusing  and 
praising  him  to  me  much  as  if  he  wished  what  you  do." 

It  did  not  often  happen  to  Lady  Falconer  to  change  color 
twice  within  five  minutes ;  but  she  blushed  now — probably  from 
the  disconcerting  consciousness  of  having  made  a  blunder.  She 
also  hesitated  a  little  in  her  reply. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  done  Mr.  Stanhope  injustice,"  she  said 
after  a  moment,  "  but  it  was  natural  that  I  should  think  of  him. 
His  intentions  and  hopes  are  very  evident." 

"  Toward  me,  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  I  sup- 
pose it  is  natural  for  people  to  think  so — people  who  imagine  that 
no  disengaged  man  can  approach  a  rich  woman  without  matri- 
monial hopes  and  intentions.  But  I  really  thought  that  you  knew 
better — at  least  as  regards  Mr.  Stanhope." 

"  Why  should  he  be  an  exception  to  other  men  ?  "  asked  Lady 
Falconer,  a  little  sharply. 

"  Why  is  he  an  exception  to  other  men  in  other  respects  ?  " 
was  the  quiet  reply.  "  I  don't  believe  that  he  ever  thinks  of  mar- 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  143 

riage — I  am  sure  that  he  has  never  thought  of  marrying  me;  and 
the  proof  of  it  is  that  he  has  again  and  again  intimated  just  what 
you  have — that  I  ought  to  make  a  brilliant  marriage ;  in  other 
words,  that  I  ought  to  buy  with  my  money  the  highest  rank  avail- 
able." 

"  That  is  a  very  foolish  way  of  regarding  the  matter,"  said 
Lady  Falconer,  with  some  asperity.  "  Of  course,  if  you  throw 
away  your  advantages,  you  will  be  very  culpable.  I  am  glad  to 
hear  that  Mr.  Stanhope  thinks  so." 

"  You  would  not  object  to  my  being  influenced  by  his  opinion 
on  that  point,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer. 

Lady  Falconer  owned  that  she  would  not ;  and,  in  reflecting 
afterward  on  the  conversation,  she  felt  that  it  had  not  been  with- 
out its  satisfactory  result.  She  had  still  a  lurking  distrust  of  Stan- 
hope— being  by  no  means  so  positive,  as  Sydney  professed  herself, 
with  regard  to  his  lack  of  matrimonial  intentions — but,  if  he  made 
himself  the  advocate  of  the  Marquis,  she  was  prepared  to  forgive 
him  much.  As  for  her  hopes  for  that  nobleman,  she  was  not  dis- 
heartened ;  but  it  was  evident  to  her  now  that  it  would  be  a  work 
of  longer  time  than  she  had  anticipated,  and  she  decided  to  give 
him  a  few  hints,  the  opportunity  for  which  was  easily  found.  It 
was  in  Sydney's  own  boudoir  that  these  hints  were  given — Lady 
Falconer  having  elected  to  remain  at  home  one  afternoon  to  re- 
ceive her  cousin,  in  consequence  of  which  Mrs.  Falconer  forcibly 
carried  off  Irene  for  a  drive. 

"Don't  be  afraid,"  she  said,  when  the  girl  shrank  at  the  first 
proposal  of  it ;  "I  will  not  take  you  to  the  Bois.  I  am  going  to 
Villette  on  a  charitable  errand.  It  is  a  long  and  not  pleasant 
drive,  but  it  will  be  better  for  you  than  sitting  here ;  and  you  will 
be  interested,  perhaps,  in  the  work  of  the  Sisters  of  Charity  in  the 
house  to  which  I  am  going." 

So,  while  they  drove  away  through  miles  of  crowded  streets  to 
the  over-populous  quarter  of  the  poor  where  they  were  bound, 
Lady  Falconer  settled  herself  comfortably  with  a  novel,  to  wait 
for  her  kinsman's  coming.  He  was  longer  than  she  had  expected, 
but,  being  well  entertained  by  M.  Cherbuliez,  she  did  not  mind  his 
delay.  It  was  at  last  rather  a  distraction  to  her  pleasantly  en- 
grossed attention  when  the  bell  of  the  apartment  rang,  and  a 


144  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

moment  later  he  was  shown  into  her  presence.  She  rose  and  held 
out  her  hand. — At  that  moment  Mrs.  Falconer  was  sitting  in  a 
low  chair  in  the  midst  of  a  paved  court  surrounded  on  all  sides  by 
tall  buildings,  a  large  paper  open  in  her  lap,  from  which  she  and 
Irene  were  distributing  bonbons  to  a  long  file  of  children  whom 
a  smiling  Sister  was  marshaling  in  front  of  them.  They  were 
children  of  the  poorest  poor — some  orphans,  some  kept  by  the  day 
while  the  parents  went  to  work ;  they  clutched  the  sugar-plums 
in  their  eager  little  fingers,  their  dark,  wistful  eyes  fastened  on  the 
ladies  as  they  whispered  "  Merci."  This  was  their  place  of  amuse- 
ment— this  square  court,  with  only  the  bit  of  sky  above  to  tell  of 
God's  wide,  beautiful  world.  All  that  the  good  Sisters  could  do 
for  them  they  did ;  but  they  could  give  them  no  better  play-ground 
than  this— fit  type  of  the  barren,  inclosed  life  of  poverty  that  lay 
before  them,  with  only  the  fair  hope  of  heaven  shining  into  it,  if 
they  be  not  robbed  of  that  hope  and  that  heaven,  as  multitudes  of 
their  brethren  have  been,  and  multitudes  yet  will  be,  in  unhappy 
France. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Lady  Falconer  to  her  cousin.  "I 
asked  you  to  come  this  afternoon  because  I  thought  we  would  be 
uninterrupted,  and  I  have  something  of  importance  to  say  to  you." 

"You  know  that  I  am  always  happy  to  obey  your  summons," 
answered  the  Marquis,  "  whether  for  a  matter  of  importance  or 
not." 

"I  wish  you  were  as  ready  to  obey  me  in  other  matters,"  said 
she ;  "  or  at  least  to  give  attention  to  what  I  advise." 

"  And  do  I  ever  fail  to  give  attention  to  what  you  advise  ? " 
asked  he,  with  a  smile,  as  he  sat  down  and  turned  his  handsome 
head  toward  her. 

"I  have  advised  one  thing  for  a  long  time  to  which  you  have 
paid  no  heed,"  she  answered.  "And  it  is  on  that  subject  I  want  to 
talk  to  you.  Armand,  do  you  not  think  it  is  time  you  should 
range  yourself  and  marry  ?  " 

The  Marquis  did  not  look  very  much  surprised  by  this  abrupt 

attack.  Probably  he  had  anticipated  it.  He  only  smiled a  quiet 

smile  that  might  mean  anything  or  nothing. 

"  Is  it  time  ?  "  he  said.  "  I  really  have  not  thought  about  it. 
My  liberty  is  the  last  valuable  possession  left  me,  and  I  am  not  in 


•     HEART  OF  STEEL.  145 

haste  to  resign  it.  I  prefer  conjugating  the  verb  Jennuyer  alone, 
to  entering  into  a  relation  that  might  give  it  double  meaning." 

"Why  should  it?"  asked  Lady  Falconer.  "In  our  rank  of 
life,  thank  Heaven!  marriage  does  not  mean  anything  so  odious 
as  enforced  companionship.  It  only  means  a  proper  balance  of 
advantages,  a  firmer  hold  on  the  responsibilities  of  life,  a — in  short, 
a  thing  that  has  to  be  done,"  said  her  ladyship,  breaking  down  in 
her  enumeration  of  what  was  signified  by  the  marriage  state. 
"  Therefore,  why  defer  it?  " 

"Why  does  one  defer  any  evil  hour?"  asked  he,  lifting  his 
shoulders.  "  Besides,  you  forget  that  I  am  no  longer  ton  parti.'1'1 

"A  Marquis  de  Chateaumesnil  must  always  be  bon  parti"  an- 
swered she.  "Because  you  have  been  extravagant  and  injured 
your  fortune  is  no  reason  why  you  should  not  make  any  marriage 
you  desire.  But  I  think" — she  paused  an  instant — "that,  con- 
sidering your  lessened  fortune,  a  wealthy  marriage  would  be  best 
for  you." 

"I  am  quite  sure  of  it,"  he  answered,  calmly,  "and  perhaps 
for  that  reason  I  have  been  in  no  haste.  I  am  placed  by  my  folly 
in  a  position  which  makes  it  impossible  for  me  to  seek  the  hand  of 
any  but  a  rich  woman.  Now,  rich  women  not  only  do  not  abound, 
but  they  are  generally  found  with  great  disadvantages.  I  confess 
it  would  go  hard  with  me  to  make  the  daughter  of  some  banker, 
or  retired  marcJiand,  Marquise  de  CMteaumesnil." 

"It  is  not  to  be  thought  of!  "  said  his  cousin,  hastily  and  de- 
cidedly. "There  is  no  reason  why  it  should  be  thought  of. 
There  are  well-dowered  daughters  of  noble  houses  to  be  found — 
and  the  best  might  be  satisfied  to  become  Marquise  de  Chateau- 
mesnil. But — I  have  another  plan  for  you." 

The  deep,  dark  eyes,  which  Irene  had  called  "inscrutable," 
looked  at  her  with  amusement  shining  in  their  depths. 

"  Shall  I  spare  you  the  trouble  of  telling  your  plan?  "  he  asked. 
"  I  can  imagine  what  it  is." 

"  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  it  was  yours  also,"  she  said. 

"Yon  are  mistaken,"  he  answered.  "It  is  not  mine.  I  ad- 
mire Mrs.  Falconer ;  but  I  have  never  thought  of  proposing  my- 
self as  a  suitor  to  her." 

"  But  it  is  worth  thinking  of — are  you  aware  of  that  ?  "  cried 
7 


14G  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

Lady  Falconer.  "Do  you  know  what  her  fortune  is?  She  has 
not  less  than  twenty  thousand  pounds  a  year,  and  Sir  George  says 
that  part  of  her  property  is  certain  to  increase  immensely  in 
value.  My  dear  Annand,  consider  what  you  could  do  with  such 
a  fortune — how  you  could  restore  Chateaumesnil — how  you  could 
enter  puhlic  life !  I  might  see  you  Prime  Minister  of  France  yet." 

Something  like  a  flush  rose  to  his  cheek  at  her  eager  words, 
but  there  was  a  half-sad,  half-ironic  smile  on  his  lip  as  he  an- 
swered: "Money  has  enormous  power,  certainly;  but  I  hardly 
think  that  any  amount  of  it  could  make  me  a  successful  rival  of 
the  'foufurieuxS  But  do  you  think  you  are  doing  Mrs.  Falconer 
justice  in  saying  so  much  of  her  fortune,  so  little  of  herself?" 

"  "What  is  there  to  say  of  her,  except  that  it  is  surprising  such 
a  shower  of  gold  should  have  fallen  upon  one  so  well  able  to 
make  use  of  it  ?  She  has  beauty,  cleverness,  and  social  talent ; 
and  if  she  brings  no  prestige  of  family — well,  there  must  always  be 
some  drawback.  And  I  believe  her  family  is  good — in  America." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment.  The  tall  mirrors  reflected 
a  grave-looking  gentleman,  and  a  lady  who  was  regarding  him 
with  evident  anxiety.  Presently  he  spoke : 

"  Eh  fiien,  what  am  I  to  say  ?  If  I  were  ready  to  put  myself  in 
your  hands,  what  then  ?  Is  Mrs.  Falconer  likely  to  look  kindly 
on  our  institution  of  mariage  de  convenance  f  " 

"No,"  answered  Lady  Falconer,  after  a  slight  hesitation, 
"she  is  not.  Her  ideas  on  that  subject  are  very  foolish — alto- 
gether those  of  one  not  bred  in  the  great  world.  There  is  no 
doubt  but  that  it  will  be  necessary  for  you  tofaire  la  cour.  It  is 
a  troublesome  process,  but  there  is  no  help  for  it.  I  must  deal 
frankly  with  you ;  and  I  assure  you  that,  unless  you  can  win  her 
heart,  you  have  no  chance  at  all." 

"Ah!"  said  he.  His  face  cleared,  brightened.  Evidently 
this  was  an  assurance  which  pleased,  instead  of  dismaying  him. 
It  may  be  that  it  did  not  seem  a  very  troublesome  process  to  one 
who  had  already  won  so  many  hearts  as  the  Marquis  do  Chateau- 
mesnil. 

"And,"  added  his  cousin,  watching  him  closely,  "I  have 
something  else  to  tell  you.  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  you  have  a 
prejudice  to  overcome.  As  an  acquaintance,  Sydney  may  like 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  147 

you  very  well ;  but,  regarded  ia  a  matrimonial  point  of  view — 
You  know  the  story  of  her  marriage,  no  doubt.  A  sad  mauvais 
svjet,  poor  Ralph ;  and  the  experience  has  given  her  a  dread  of 
men  of  the  same  character.  Now,  I  do  not  mean  for  a  moment  to 
compare  you  to  Ralph — " 

"Pray,  don't  apologize,"  said  he,  calmly.  "I  have  deserved 
that  or  any  other  comparison.  Mrs.  Falconer  can  think  no  worse 
of  me  than  I  deserve,  except  in  the  fact  that  I  follow  no  more 
wandering  fires.  I  am  range  now." 

"It  rests  with  you  to  make  her  believe  that,"  said  Lady  Fal- 
coner. "  I  warn  you  that  it  may  not  be  an  easy  task.  Ah— you 
smile!  You  think,  perhaps,  that  I  am  mistaken — " 

"  Not  at  all,"  he  answered,  "  but  you  may  have  heard  a  witty 
and  admirable  definition  of  the  passion  of  love — '«»  caprice  in- 
flamme  par  des  obstacles?  If  I  smiled,  it  was  because  I  hoped 
that  perhaps  the  obstacles  of  overcoming  Mrs.  Falconer's  preju- 
dice might  inflame  me  again  with  that  pleasant  caprice." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THESE  was  great  regret  among  Mrs.  Falconer's  intimate  friends 
when  her  intentions  for  the  winter  were  announced.  It  was 
clearly  impossible  for  all  of  them  to  imitate  the  proposed  example 
of  Stanhope  and  Erne,  and  follow  her  with  bag  and  baggage  to  the 
Eternal  City ;  therefore,  when  they  assembled  for  her  last  Sunday 
reunion,  the  sorrow  expressed  on  all  sides  was  evidently  sincere. 
She  was  herself  a  trifle  less  radiant  than  usual.  There  is  always 
regret  in  parting  with  agreeable  surroundings,  and  she  began  to 
realize  that  it  was  something  of  a  sacrifice  to  leave  her  charming 
quarters  and  break  up  her  pleasant  circle. 

"  Don't  talk  any  more  of  being  sorry,  please,"  she  said  at  last, 
"  for  I  am,  perhaps,  sorriest  of  all.  I  have  always  said  that  Paris 
is  my  favorite  place  of  residence,  and  when  I  see  my  friends 
around  me,  and  know  that  I  am  saying  good-by  to  them  for 
several  months,  you  may  be  sure  that  Italy  does  not  look  all  sun- 
shine to  me." 

"You  will  carry  sunshine  to  it,  then,"  said  some  one  gallantly 


14:8  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

— bat  the  compliment  was  rather  spoiled  by  the  laugh  with  which 
she  answered: 

"  That  would  be  like  carrying  coals  to  Newcastle.  No !  if  I 
possessed  any  sunshine,  the  best  thing  to  do  would  be  to  leave  it 
in  Paris  for  your  winter  benefit." 

"  There  is  no  doubt  we  shall  need  it,  literally  as  well  as  figura- 
tively," said  Godwin.  "I  don't  know  a  worse  winter  climate 
than  that  of  Paris,  except  that  of  London." 

"  "Why,  then,  do  you  not  go  to  Italy  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Falconer, 
turning  toward  him. 

"  Because  I  have  work  to  do  which  can  be  better  done  in  the 
gray  fogs  of  the  Seine  than  under  voluptuous  southern  skies,"  he 
answered.  "  I  am  cast  in  rugged  mold,  yet  even  I  can  be  tempted 
to  dolcefar  niente  now  and  then." 

"  And  have  you  forgotten  that  sometimes  '  le  temps  Ic  mieux 
employe  est  celui  que  Von  perd '  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head.  "That  may  do  for  a  dilettante  worker 
like  Stanhope.  I  have  no  doubt  he  will  employ  time  admirably 
in  that  manner.  But  for  me,  I  have  learned,  like  Balzac,  that  '  le 
temps  est  le  scul  capital  de  gens  qui  n'ont  que  leur  intelligence 
pour  fortune?  And  also  that  '  les  succes  litteraires  ne  se  con- 
querent  que  dans  la  solitude  ct  par  d'oltstincs  travaux."1 " 

"No  doubt  that  is  very  true,"  she  said.  "But — do  you  think 
you  are  quite  just  in  calling  Mr.  Stanhope  a  dilettante  worker? 
I  think  he  deserves  to  be  classed  better  than  that."  -^  v " 

"I  did  not  apply  the  term  in  an  offensive  sense,"  Godwin 
answered.  ""What  work  he  has  done  is  good;  but  he  is  not 
likely  to  do  much  more  while  he  gives  up  his  time  to  society  and 
to  wandering."  Then  he  glanced  at  her  quickly.  "You  have 
influence  with  him,"  he  said.  "Why  do  you  not  make  him 
accomplish  something  that  would  give  him  an  enduring  reputa- 
tion?" 

"I  can  not  imagine,"  she  replied,  with  a  slight  increase  of 
color,  "  why  you  should  fancy  that  I  have  any  influence  with  him. 
I  assure  yon  that  I  have  none.  Nor  do  I  think  that  he  is  a  man 
to  be  easily  influenced." 

"  It  does  not  follow  that  he  is  easily  influenced  because  I  said 
that  you  could  influence  him.  Most  women  overrate  their  power ; 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  149 

I  am  afraid  you  underrate  yours.  And  it  is  a  pity  that  he  should 
waste  his  time.  He  is  very  clever ;  there  is  sometimes  almost  a 
touch  of  genius  ahout  him." 

"  That  is  high  praise  from  you,  I  know,"  she  said,  smiling  like 
one  who  is  well  pleased;  "but  I  have  such  confidence  in  Mr. 
Stanhope's  judgment,  that  I  believe  he  knows  what  is  best  to  do, 
and  that,  if  he  does  not  press  his  productive  power,  it  is  with 
deliberate  intention,  and  not  from  idleness  or  because  he  is  in  the 
least  distracted  by  social  pleasures." 

"Hum!  "  said  Godwin — a  sound  which  might  be  taken  to 
mean  either  assent  or  dissent. 

He  did  not  pursue  the  subject  further,  and  Mrs.  Falconer's 
attention  was  claimed  then  by  others ;  but  she  had  a  feeling  as  if 
he  were  regarding  her  closely  and  almost  suspiciously.  It  puzzled 
at  the  same  time  that  it  amused  her.  What  did  he  mean  ?  Of 
what  did  he  suspect  her? 

"I  think,"  she  said  presently  to  Stanhope,  "that  Mr.  Godwin 
holds  me  accountable  for  tempting  you  to  Italy  and  making  you 
waste  time.  Can  you  not  let  him  know  that  I  am  guiltless  in  the 
matter? " 

"  Ah,  can  I? "  answered  he,  lightly.  "Are  you  guiltless?  In 
other  words,  should  I  be  going  to  Italy  if  you  were  not  going 
there?" 

"That  is  nonsense!"  she  returned,  with  something  like  a 
shade  of  vexation  in  her  voice.  "  You  know  that  my  going  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  matter.  It  is  on  account  of  Irene — " 

" True,"  he  said,  more  gravely,  as  she  paused.  "I  should  not, 
of  course,  think  of  following  you,  except  that  I  do  not  feel  that  I 
have  a  right  to  throw  all  my  responsibility  as  guardian  on  your 
shoulders.  You  are  quite  right — I  will  let  Godwin  know." 

Something  in  his  tone  made  her  look  up  quickly.  "  I  hope," 
she  said,  hastily,  "  that  you  don't  think  I  meant — that  it  matters 
at  all  to  me — " 

"What  inferences  are  drawn?"  he  said,  with  a  smile,  as  she 
paused  again.  "  No — I  am  sure  that  it  does  not  matter ;  but  all 
the  same,  it  is  as  well  that  they  should  not  be  drawn.  Godwin's 
opinion  is  of  no  importance ;  but  there  might  be  others — " 

He  paused  in  turn,  for  at  that  moment  he  saw  the  Marquis  de 


150  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

Chateaumesnil  approaching.  The  latter  was  as  full  of  calm,  high- 
bred grace  as  ever ;  but  Stanhope  fancied  that  he  detected  some- 
thing under  the  repose  of  his  manner — a  strain,  as  it  were,  of 
animation,  or  perhaps  of  feeling — which  gave  a  light  to  the  eye 
that  was  not  usually  in.  it. 

"And  so,  madame,  you  are  forsaking  us!  "  he  said.  "Have 
you,  then,  grown  tired  of  Paris?" 

"I  never  tire  of  Paris,  M.  le  Marquis,"  she  replied;  "hut 
there  are  reasons  apart  from  weariness  that  sometimes  make  it 
advisable  to  change  one's  sky — and  you  must  admit  that  I  am 
going  to  seek  a  brighter  one." 

"No  one  will  admit  it  more  readily  than  I,"  he  answered; 
"  for,  with  all  my  attachment  to  Paris,  I,  too,  prefer  to  seek  a 
brighter  sky  in  winter. — It  would  be  hard  to  imagine  one  brighter 
than  that  under  which  we  spent  last  winter,  mon  cher"  said  he, 
turning  to  Stanhope.  "  And,  since  Mrs.  Falconer  is  forsaking  us, 
what  do  you  say  to  a  sun-bath  in  Algiers  this  season  ?  " 

"I  shall  like  nothing  better,"  replied  Stanhope,  promptly,  "if 
you  will  agree  to  return  by  way  of  Italy." 

"  De  tout  mon  cceur  I "  said  the  Marquis.  It  was  what  he  had 
already  decided  to  do ;  but  he  was  not  sorry  that  the  proposal 
should  come  from  Stanhope— although  a  little  surprised.  Mrs. 
Falconer  caught  the  expression  which  betrayed  the  latter  feeling, 
and  hastened  to  give  the  necessary  explanation. 

"Mr.  Stanhope  is  not  very  flattering  to  me,"  she  said.  "  I  am 
to  take  with  me  to  Italy  a  young  lady  who  is  his  ward,  and  whom 
he  is  willing  to  trust  to  me  partially — but,  as  you  perceive,  not  en- 
tirely." 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Stanhope ;  "  so  far  from  not  trusting  you 
entirely,  I  only  feel  that  I  must  not  demand  too  much  from  your 
kindness." 

"That  is  a  mere  fafon  de  parler"  said  she.  "You  really 
mean  that  you  feel  bound  to  see  how  I  am  acquitting  myself.  But 
I  assure  you  that,  if  you  have  the  least  inclination  to  explore  the 
source  of  the  Nile,  you  can  do  so  with  a  mind  at  ease  so  far  aa 
Mademoiselle  Lescar  is  concerned." 

"  Mademoiselle  Lescar !  "  repeated  the  Marquis.  "  Have  I  not 
heard  that  name  lately?  " 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  151 

"  You  have  not  only  heard  the  name,  but  seen  its  bearer,1' 
said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  Do  you  remember  my  companion  at  the 
ChapelleExpiatoire?" 

'•Perfectly,"  he  answered.  "She  had  a  face  not  easily  to  be 
forgotten." 

"  She  is  now  under  my  care,  and  will  be  my  companion,  I  hope? 
for  some  time  to  come.  Her  mother  died  a  few  days  after  our 
visit  to  the  Chapelle,  leaving  her  to  the  guardianship  of  Mr.  Stan- 
hope. A  singular  choice,  perhaps  you  think — considering  his 
age — but  the  circumstances  were  peculiar.  Madame  Lescar  was 
alone,  dying  in  a  foreign  land,  and  Mr.  Stanhope  will  allow  me  to 
say  that  he  was  very  kind  to  her — " 

"  There  were  claims  of  old  friendship,"  interposed  Stanhope, 
"  and  she  was  a  woman  to  whom  any  one  short  of  a  brute  would 
have  been  kind." 

"Exactly,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "Mr.  Stanhope,  being  short 
of  a  brute,  then,  was  not  only  kind,  but  devoted  to  her.  Madame 
Lescar  therefore  intrusted  him  with  the  legal  guardianship  of  her 
daughter.  But  since  there  was  also  hereditary  friendship  between 
her  family  and  mine,  I  have  taken  social  charge  of  the  young 
lady,  and,  so  far  as  I  can  judge,  his  fears  that  I  may  find  the  re- 
sponsibility onerous  are  wholly  unfounded." 

"  I  am  sure,"  said  the  Marquis,  who  had  already  heard  some- 
tiling  of  this  from  Lady  Falconer,  but  without  paying  much 
attention,  or  at  all  grasping  the  identity  of  the  person  concerned, 
"that  few  responsibilities  would  prove  too  onerous  for  your 
kindness ;  but  I  can  understand  why  Mr.  Stanhope  hesitates  to 
let  you  incur  too  much.  If  it  were  possible  to  predicate  from 
appearances,  however,  I  should  say  that  there  was  little  danger 
to  be  apprehended  from  Mademoiselle  Lescar.  Her  face  is  rarely 
beautiful  and  interesting." 

"  Beautiful  and  interesting  people  aro  generally  those  who  give 
most  trouble,"  observed  Stanhope.  "  If  personal  experience  did 
not  assure  us  of  that,  history  would — not  to  speak  of  fiction." 

"  According  to  my  experience,  numbers  of  plain  and  uninter- 
esting people  give  trouble  also,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer. 

"I  grant  you  that  the  faculty  of  giving  trouble  is  not  at  all 
dependent  on  personal  appearances,"  said  Stanhope;  "but,  with 


152  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

the  best  or  worst  intentions  possible  in  that  line,  a  plain  •woman 
is  heavily  handicapped ;  while  there  are  few  limits  to  the  amount 
of  trouble  a  beautiful  woman  can  give  if  she  has  a  mind  that 
way." 

"And  do  you  mean  to  imply  that  Irene  has  a  mind  that 
way?"  asked  Mrs.  Falconer.  "I  never  heard  anything  more 
unjust !  " 

"I  did  not  mean  in  the  least  to  imply  it,"  he  answered; 
"  only  to  suggest  that  beauty  is  not  an  argument  in  favor  of  harm- 


"  I  begin  to  believe  that  he  is  a  woman-hater,  and  not  to  be 
trusted  at  all,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer  to  the  Marquis.  "I  assure  you 
that  Mademoiselle  Lescar  is  as  charming  as  she  is  beautiful — and 
she  has  the  most  divine  voice  !  I  wish  you  could  hear  her  sing." 

"  And  is  there  no  hope  that  I  may  have  that  pleasure  ?  " 

"Not  now,  certainly — she  has  not  sung  since  her  mother's 
death.  Perhaps  in  Italy — if  you  come  to  Italy — " 

"  I  shall  certainly  come,"  he  said,  quickly. 

"Then  she  may  sing  for  you." 

"I  shall  be  happy  to  hear  her.  That  spirituelle  face  looks  as 
if  she  might  do  anything  well.  But,"  he  added  after  a  moment's 
pause — a  moment  during  which  Stanhope  moved  away — "the 
chief  pleasure  which  I  promise  myself  in  Italy  is  not  the  pleasure 
of  hearing  Mademoiselle  Lescar  sing." 

"I  hardly  imagined  so,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  with  a  smile. 
"  There  are  many  pleasures  that  one  promises  one's  self  in  Italy, 
and  most  of  them  are  too  great  to  be  compared  to  anything  a 
woman  can  do." 

"Yet  it  is  possible  that  the  greatest  of  them  might  fall  into 
insignificance  by  the  side  of  what  a  woman  can  do — or  can 
simply  be,"  he  said,  with  a  manner  which  she  felt  to  indicate 
a  suggestion  of  personal  homage. 

"Possible — yes,"  she  answered  ;  "but  it  would  be  so  far  from 
a  proof  of  wisdom  on  the  part  of  the  man  in  whose  esteem  they 
fell,  fhat  I  am  sure  you  do  not  mean  to  commend  it,  even  from 
the  most  gallant  point  of  view." 

"Whether  I  commend  it  or  not,"  he  said,  "  I  think  that  most 
of  your  sex  would  approve  of  it." 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  153 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  them,"  she  replied.  "  I  am  afraid  it 
is  an  intense  egotism  which  makes  women  desire  to  be  unduly 
exalted— for  a  time — to  be,  perhaps,  as  unduly  depreciated  after- 
ward." 

"  But  there  are  a  few  women  whom  it  would  be  impossible  to 
depreciate,"  said  the  Marquis,  with  an  air  of  offering  homage  a 
shade  more  personal. 

"  Then  they  are  women  who  would  certainly  not  desire  to  be 
unduly  exalted,"  she  answered,  with  something  like  a  challenge 
in  her  soft,  bright  glance. 

Lady  Falconer,  who  was  watching  this  conversation  from  the 
other  side  of  the  room,  saw  from  the  expression  of  her  kinsman's 
face  that  he  was  pleased.  In  truth,  he  liked  the  ease  and  grace 
with  which  his  advances  were  received;  and  he  liked  also  — 
perhaps  even  more — the  assurance  that  no  lover-like  raptures 
would  be  expected  of  him.  For  him,  indeed,  the  season  of  what 
he  had  called  "  that  pleasant  caprice  "  was  over ;  and  he  could 
offer  little  more  than  appreciative  admiration  to  the  most  charm- 
ing woman  now. 

"According  to  my  experience,"  he  once  said  to  Stanhope, 
"  women  in  general  outline  are  much  alike.  One  is  amused  by 
them,  one  likes  their  beauty,  one  endures  their  caprices — occa- 
sionally one  finds  afemme  cTesprit,  who  is  the  most  vain  and  cer- 
tainly the  most  exacting  of  all.  Do  you  remember  that  piquant 
mot  of  Talleyrand's  when  some  one  expressed  surprise  at  his 
finding  pleasure  in  the  society  of  Madame  Grant,  after  that  of 
Madame  de  Stael  ? — '  II  faut  avoir  aime  Madame  de  Stael  pour 
sawurer  le  lonTieur  d'aimer  une  'bete.'1 " 

"And  has  it  never  occurred  to  you,"  said  Stanhope,  "  that  be- 
tween ihefe?nme  d1  esprit  and  Mte  there  may  be  another  woman 
— one  in  whom  intellectual  strength  is  united  to  feminine  grace, 
and  who  can  at  the  same  time  stimulate  the  mind  and  charm  the 
heart?" 

"  It  is  an  ideal  I  have  never  found,"  replied  the  Marquis,  "  and 
one  I  have  no  great  desire  to  find ;  for  a  companion  who  could  at 
the  same  time  '  stimulate  the  mind  and  charm  the  heart '  would 
prove  too  brilliant  and  fatiguing  for  daily  life." 

"You  are  a  true  Frenchman,"  said  Stanhope,  smiling,"  and  in 


154  HEART  OF  STEEL 

that  idea,  as  in  many  others,  yoar  compatriots  remind  me  of  the 
Athenians  of  old." 

This  interchange  of  sentiment  had  taken  place  months  before, 
but  some  association  recalled  it  to  the  mind  of  the  Marquis,  as  he 
listened  to  Mrs.  Falconer  and  watched  her  changeful  face.  "Was 
not  this,  perhaps,  Stanhope's  ideal — the  woman  who  nnited  "in- 
tellectual strength  to  feminine  grace,"  and  could  at  once  "stimu- 
late the  mind  and  charm  the  heart "  ? 

There  was  some  one  besides  Lady  Falconer  who  observed  the 
tite-d-tete,  but  with  widely  different  feelings  from  hers.  This  was 
Godwin,  who  was  meditating  an  interruption,  when  two  ladies, 
accompanied  by  Erne,  entered  the  salon,  and  made  their  way  to 
the  hostess.  One  was  Miss  Dysart  —  even  more  charmingly 
dressed  and  brilliantly  pretty  than  usual  —  the  other  a  delicate 
woman  of  the  frail  American  type.  Their  appearance  was  at 
once  explained  by  the  elder  lady. 

"Mr.  Erne  dined  with  us,"  she  said,  a  little  nervously,  "and 
mentioning  that  you  are  leaving  Paris  soon,  and  that  you  receive 
this  evening,  Violet  thought  it  would  be  well  that  we  should  come 
and  say  good-by." 

"You  are  very  kind,  Mrs.  Gilbert;  and  I  am  glad  to  see 
yon,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  with  the  most  gracious  courtesy. 
She  understood  Miss  Dysart  perfectly;  but  it  was,  nevertheless, 
her  first  impulse  to  reassure  that  young  lady's  evidently  unwil- 
ling companion.  "Yes,  I  am  leaving  Paris  soon,  I  regret  to 
say." 

"  Do  you  regret  it?  "  asked  Mrs.  Gilbert,  with  an  air  of  surprise. 
"  I  should  be  so  glad  to  get  away ;  but  we  have  taken  our  apart- 
ment, for  some  time,  and  Mr.  Gilbert  is  beginning  to  like  Paris 
better  than  he  did  at  first.  But  I  really  don't  know  what  I  shall 
do  when  Violet  has  left  me." 

"She  is  going  away,  then? "  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  with  a  polite- 
ness which  scarcely  covered  the  fact  that  she  felt  not  the  slightest 
interest  in  Miss  Dysart's  movements. 

"Yes,  dear  Mrs.  Falconer,"  said  Violet,  turning  from  an  ex- 
change of  greetings  with  the  Marquis,  "I  am  going  to  Nice — 
where,  no  doubt,  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  in  the 
course  of  the  winter." 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  155 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  "  I  shall  not  be  in  Nice.  I  am  go- 
ing to  Home." 

"  Oh,  Kome  is  very  agreeable,"  said  Miss  Dysart,  patronizingly. 
"Society  there  is  not  so  gay  as  in  Nice,  but  it  is  much  less  doubt- 
ful ;  aud,  if  there  is  not  the  excitement  of  running  over  to  Monte 
Carlo  for  an  evening's  amusement,  there  are  compensations  for 
that." 

"The  compensation  of  finding  a  full  purse  rather  than  an 
empty  one  in  the  morning,  probably,"  said  the  Marquis. 

She  nodded,  laughing.  "I  hope  you  are  not  shocked,"  she 
said,  "but  I  Jiave  come  away  from  Monte  Carlo  with  an  empty 
purse  in  my  time.  It  was  fortunate  that  it  was  empty,  however, 
for  the  excitement  of  play  is  so  entrancing,  that  if  I  had  won 
I  should  probably  have  become  a  resident  of  Monaco,  and  be 
there  yet." 

"  Then  we  must  all  be  glad  that  you  did  not  win,"  said  the 
Marquis,  "since  in  that  case  we  should  have  been  deprived  of  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  you  on  many  occasions." 

"  And  I  should  have  been  forced  to  go  and,  like  Daniel 
Deronda,  bring  yon  to  a  sense  of  the  wickedness  of  your  ways  by 
casting  an  evil  eye  on  your  play,"  said  Erne. 

"  I  can  not  imagine  you  in  that  part,"  she  answered,  "  since, 
unless  ray  memory  fails,  you  also  left  the  tables  with  an  empty 
purse  one  evening  when  we  were  there  together,  with  the  Jerning- 
hams." 

"  Your  memory  is  very  good,"  he  answered.  "  I  was  re- 
duced to  the  necessity  of  borrowing  money  to  return  to  Nice.  I 
have  not  been  to  Monte  Carlo  since." 

"  But  you  have  not  sworn  off,  I  hope,"  said  she.  "  You  must 
come  down  this  winter  and  let  us  try  to  break  the  bank." 

"I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  "that  to  prevent  such  an  ar- 
rangement as  that,  I  am  justified  in  claiming  Lionel's  services  as 
due  to  me  this  winter,  in  virtue  of  a  prior  engagement.  lie  is 
foing  to  Home,  to  act  as  my  cavalier." 

"  How  very  pleasant — for  him  1  "  said  the  girl,  with  a  glance 
of  mirthful  meaning.  "But  what  is  to  become  of  poor  Mr. 
Stanhope?  I  thought  he  was  your  cavalier  by  prescriptive 
right." 


156  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"  Mr.  Stanhope  has  just  made  an  engagement  to  accompany 
M.  de  Chateaumesnil  to  Algiers,"  answered  Mrs.  Falconer,  -with 
unruffled  composure. 

"Has  he,  indeed?  "  said  Miss  Dysart,  turning  her  eyes  full  of 
diablerie  on  the  Marquis.  "Algiers  maybe  a  place  of  banish- 
ment; but  what  has  M.  de  Chateaumesnil  done  to  be  sent 
.there  ?  " 

"  He  has  discovered  that  the  fiend  ennui  is  to  be  met  even  on 
the  asphalt  of  Paris,"  answered  the  Marquis. 

"  Then  I  turn  the  invitation  which  Mr.  Erne  can  not  accept 
over  to  you,"  said  she,  gayly.  "  Come  to  Nice,  and  let  us  go  to 
Monte  Carlo  and  break  the  bank.  I  fancy  that  will  put  ennui  to 
flight." 

"It  might  be  a  panacea  that  would  kill  in  curing,"  said  he, 
shrugging  his  shoulders  lightly. 

"My  dear  Violet,"  interposed  Mrs.  Gilbert,  finding  words  at 
this  juncture,  "  I  really  think  it  is  very  wrong  of  you,  and — and 
might  be  misunderstood — to  give  such  invitations." 

"They  could  not  possibly  be  misunderstood,"  replied  the 
young  lady,  "  for  they  are  distinctly  meant  to  be  accepted. — O 
Mr.  Stanhope,  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come  to  speak  to  me,  and  be 
shocked  by  an  invitation  to  Monte  Carlo !  I  have  heard  that  you 
are  to  be  '  off  duty  '  this  winter — so  you  have  no  excuse  for  de- 
clining." 

"It  would  be  rather  difficult  for  you  to  shock  me,"  said  Stan- 
hope as  he  took  her  offered  hand  ;  "  but  I  am  not  fond  of  Monte 
Carlo,  and  I  don't  think  it  is  a  particularly  suitable  place  for  you. 
As  for  my  being  '  off  duty ' — may  I  beg  to  know  what  duty?  " 

But,  as  Violet  afterward  confessed  to  Mrs.  Gilbert,  Stanhope 
was  one  of  the  few  people  of  whom  she  stood  in  awe,  and  with 
whom  the  ready  audacity  of  her  speech  sometimes  failed.  In- 
stead, therefore,  of  answering  him  as  frankly  as  she  would  have 
answered  any  one  else,  she  hesitated  an  instant  and  looked  after 
Mrs.  Falconer,  who  had  turned  away. 

"  Have  you  so  many  duties  that  you  do  not  know  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  A  propos,  I  have  heard  of  a  mysterious,  beautiful  protegee  of 
yours  and  Mrs.  Falconer's.  Why  is  she  not  visible  to-night  ?  I 
am  very  anxious  to  see  her." 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  157 

"I  suppose  you  mean  Mademoiselle  Lescar,"  he  answered. 
"  She  is  in  deep  mourning — her  mother  died  only  a  few  weeks 
ago — and  therefore  does  not  appear  in  society." 

"  Oh,  her  mother  died  a  few  weeks  ago,"  said  Miss  Dysart, 
giving  him  a  glance.  "  And  the  name  is  Lescar. — Ah,  I  see!  Do 
you  ever  read  'The  Tittle-Tattle, '  Mr.  Stanhope?" 

"  Never,"  replied  Stanhope,  with  emphatic  condemnation  in 
that  trenchant  word,  for  "  The  Tittle-Tattle  " — an  American  paper 
published  in  Paris — was  one  of  the  most  unscrupulous  of  the  "  so- 
ciety "  sheets  that  are  among  the  hlessings  (well  disguised  1)  of  the 
age. 

"  Ah !  I  do — of  course,  it  is  shockingly  personal  in  its  gossip ; 
hut,  after  all,  one  likes  to  know  what  the  world  is  about,  and,  if 
there  is  any  world  outside  of  society,  I  confess  that  I  am  not  in- 
terested in  it.  I'll  send  you  the  paper  for  this  week — there  is  an 
article  in  it  you  may  care  to  glance  at.  What  is  your  address — 
Mem-ice's  ? " 

Stanhope's  mind  misgave  him  as  to  what  the  promised  paper 
might  contain ;  but  he  was  discreet  enough  to  make  no  inquiries, 
and  only  said  that  he  would  be  glad  to  receive  anything  that  Miss 
Dysart  chose  to  send. 

"You  shall  have  it  early  to-morrow,"  said  the  young  lady, 
"though  it  is  not  likely  you  will  be  pleased  when  you  read  it. 
Eh  bien,  I  shall  hope  to  see  Mademoiselle  Lescar  if  I  go  as  far  as 
Rome  this  winter;  and  as  for  you,  pray  remember  that  Nice 
could  be  taken  as  well  as  not  on  your  way  to  Algiers." 

"  If  I  am  so  fortunate  as  to  be  the  traveling  companion  of  the 
Marquis  de  Chateaumesnil,  I  shall  endeavor  not  to  forget,"  said 
Stanhope. 

"Now  that  is  very  ungrateful,"  she  retorted,  "for  you  know, 
or  you  ought  to  know,  the  extent  of  my  regard  for  you. — Yes, 
dear  Mrs.  Gilbert,  as  soon  as  I  have  spoken  to  Lady  Falconer,  I 
am  ready  to  go." 


15S  HEART  OF  STEEL. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Miss  DYSART  was  as  good  as  her  word,  and  the  next  morning 
Stanhope  found  on  his  hreakfast-table  a  copy  of  "  The  Tittle- 
Tattle,"  addressed  in  writing  that  might  have  served,  in  respect 
to  size,  for  a  sign-post,  yet  was  so  illegible  that  it  Avas  remarkable 
it  should  ever  have  reached  its  destination.  He  tore  off  the 
wrapper  and  turned  over  the  paper  with  an  exact  foreboding  of 
what  he  should  find.  And  there  it  was,  with  the  dramatic  head- 
ing, "Sad  Close  of  a  Checkered  Life." 

"  A  woman  who  in  her  time  played  many  brilliant  parts  in. 
the  world,"  the  column-long  article  began,  "  died  the  other  day 
in  poverty  and  obscurity  in  Paris.  Many  of  our  readers  will  re- 
call the  name  and  fame  of  the  beautiful  Miss  Lescar,  who  twenty- 
five  years  ago  was  a  great  Southern  heiress,  the  daughter  of  a  dis- 
tinguished statesman,  and  perhaps  the  greatest  belle  in  America. 

Her  marriage  with  Count  Waldegrave — Minister  from  to 

Washington — was  the  most  brilliant  social  event  of  its  time,  and 
was  followed — " 

At  this  point  Stanhope  flung  the  paper  across  the  room,  with 
an  execration  that  would  not  have  flattered  the  editor's  ear.  So, 
to  make  a  paragraph  to  tickle  sensation-loving  palates  for  an 
hour,  it  was  all  spread  out  again — the  story  of  the  bitter  martyr- 
dom which  ended  in  that  quiet  grave  of  Montmartre !  Madame 
Lescar's  life  in  Paris — and  certainly  also  her  death — had  been  so 
quiet  that  he  wondered  how  even  the  instinct  of  a  reporter  had 
discovered  anything  about  it,  until  he  remembered  Erne  and  his 
wide  Bohemian  acquaintance.  A  word  dropped  by  him  might 
soon  have  traveled  to  a  purveyor  for  "  The  Tittle-Tattle,"  with 
this  result.  Well,  it  could  no  longer  harm  her  who  had  passed 
from  man's  injustice  to  God's  eternal  peace;  but  he  knew  how 
disagreeable  would  be  the  curiosity  which  it  would  excite  with 
regard  to  Irene.  So  quickly  do  such  stories  die  out  of  the  minds 
of  men,  that  he  had  counted  on  her  name  awakening  little  or  no 
recollection  of  the  mother's  history  when  she  appeared  as  Mrs. 
Falconer's  charge ;  but  now — Miss  Dysart  was  only  one  of  a  num- 
ber who  would  recognize  it  at  once.  There  was  some  relief  in 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  159 

the  recollection  that  the  readers  of  "  The  Tittle-Tattle "  were 
wholly  American,  and  that  the  society  of  her  compatriots  was 
that  which,  as  a  general  rule,  Mrs.  Falconer  least  affected. 
Nevertheless,  he  had  a  feeling  as  if  Lady  Falconer's  remonstrance 
against  such  a  responsibility  was  already  in  a  manner  justified. 

Presently  he  took  np  the  paper  again,  thinking  that  it  was 
necessary  he  should  know  exactly  what  it  contained,  and  forced 
himself  to  read  the  article  through.  It  was  not  more  offensive 
than  most  articles  of  the  kind,  though  grossly  inaccurate  in  detail, 
partly  from  ignorance,  partly  from  the  sensational  desire  to 
heighten  effect.  The  writer  described  Madame  Lescar  as  dyiug 
iu  the  depths  of  poverty ;  but,  after  all,  there  are  worse  charges 
than  that — as  Stanhope,  though  chafed  and  angry,  reflected  when 
he  finally  put  the  paper  into  the  fire,  and  rose  to  change  his 
thoughts  by  going  out. 

When  he  stepped  into  the  street,  he  found  that  it  was  one  of 
those  days  which  might  almost  tempt  a  statue  to  descend  from  its 
pedestal  and  walk  abroad  in  Paris.  Floods  of  sunshine  brought 
out  all  the  fete-like  aspect  of  the  brilliant  city.  The  air  was 
balmy,  the  blue  sky  soft  and  distant,  and  as  he  strolled  across  the 
garden  of  the  Tuileries  toward  the  Seine,  the  sense  of  annoyance 
was  imperceptibly  lifted  from  him.  He  had  come  forth  without 
a  definite  purpose,  but  almost  unconsciously  his  steps  turned 
toward  one  of  his  favorite  lounging-places — the  book-stalls  along 
the  quays.  Crossing  the  river  by  the  Pont  Royal — not  without 
pausing  to  admire  the  scene  np  and  down  its  banks,  the  play  of 
light  on  its  surface,  the  animated  movement  of  boats  to  and  fro — 
he  reached  the  stalls  and  began  to  examine  the  books  displayed 
there  in  such  heterogeneous  collection.  Left  in  peace,  he  would 
probably  have  spent  the  morning  in  this  manner ;  but  he  was  not 
long  undisturbed.  A  man  at  some  distance  from  him  paid  for  a 
volume,  put  it  under  his  arm.  and  turned  around.  As  he  did  so, 
his  glance  fell  on  Stanhope,  and,  walking  up,  he  laid  a  hand  on 
the  latter's  shoulder.  It  was  Godwin. 

"You  are  just  the  man  I  want  to  see,"  he  said.  "Can  you 
give  me  half  an  hour?  " 

"  An  hour  if  you  like,"  replied  Stanhope.  "  I  have  nothing 
to  do." 


160  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"  Perhaps  /  may  have  something  to  do,"  said  the  other,  a  little 
grimly.  "However,  come  to  my  apartment.  It  is  not  far  from 
here." 

It  was  indeed  quite  near,  in  one  of  the  houses  that  front  the 
Quai  Yoltaire — very  high,  but  all  the  better  for  that.  "What  a 
panorama  of  Paris  was  to  be  seen  from  those  windows,  after  one 
had  climbed  the  five  flights  of  stairs  that  led  to  them  1  Imme- 
diately below  lay  the  river,  with  its  bridges,  and  throngs  of  people 
like  a  stream  of  ants  passing  over  them ;  opposite  stretched  the 
noble  front  of  the  Louvre,  with  the  rich  foliage  of  the  garden  of 
the  Tuileries  farther  along.  In  the  other  direction  were  the  roofs 
of  the  old  Cit6,  with  the  massive  towers  of  Notre-Dame  vising 
above  them  in  the  golden  air ;  while  behind  lay  the  Quartier  Latin. 
It  was  there  that  Godwin  loved  to  wander,  to  dive  into  the  nar- 
row, picturesque  streets,  to  haunt  dark  book-shops  and  cafes  of  a 
different  order  from  those  of  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens ;  above  all, 
to  mingle  in  the  vie  de  Bofieme  that  still  exists  there — a  world  of 
struggling  artists  and  men  of  letters — some  of  whom  achieve  fame, 
while  others  fall  by  the  wayside,  and,  instead  of  the  Academy,  find 
the  Hotel-Dieu  or  the  Morgue.  "I  live  on  the  border  of  two 
worlds,"  he  often  said,  "  and  I  like  to  make  excursions  into  both. 
But,  if  I  had  to  resign  one,  I  .would  sooner  give  up  the  Champs- 
Elys£es  than  the  Quartier  Latin.  It  would  be  a  dull  clod  who  did 
not  draw  some  inspiration  from  the  spot  where  for  ages  learning 
made  her  home." 

There  was,  however,  little  or  no  suggestion  of  Bohemianism  in 
these  pleasant  rooms,  with  their  great  outlook  of  sky,  their  wide 
view  over  the  palaces  and  towers  of  the  beautiful  city. 

"You  have  the  pleasantest  apartments  that  I  know,  Godwin," 
said  Stanhope,  walking  to  one  of  the  windows.  "Should  you 
like  me  for  a  neighbor? " 

"I  should  like  you  very  well,"  Godwin  answered.  "But  sit 
down — you  have  seen  the  view  often  enough.  I  have  something 
to  say." 

Stanhope  removed  a  pile  of  books  from  an  easy-chair  and  flung 
himself  into  it. 

"  You  look  serious,"  he  said.     "  What  is  the  matter? " 

"Nothing  that  concerns  myself,"  replied  Godwin,  "but  some- 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  161 

thing  that  annoys  me,  nevertheless.  One  can  be  annoyed  occasion- 
ally by  things  that  don't  concern  one's  self ! "  He  paused  and 
took  a  turn  across  the  room,  his  hands  in  the  pockets  of  his  coat, 
his  heavy,  overhanging  brows  drawn  closer  together.  Then  he 
stopped  in  front  of  Stanhope,  who,  without  stirring,  looked  up 
— waiting  quietly  for  whatever  was  to  come. 

"  You  are  certainly,"  he  said,  "  Mrs.  Falconer's  friend.  Being 
so,  do  you  mean  to  stand  by  and  see  her  marry  that  notorious  rove 
the  Marquis  de  Chateaumesnil  ?  " 

"My  dear  fellow !  "  exclaimed  Stanhope.  He  sat  upright  sud- 
denly, and  regarded  the  other  with  an  expression  of  amazement. 
Had  the  thing  gone  so  far  that  even  Godwin —  That  was  his  first 
thought. 

"You  must  see,  anybody  must  see,  what  he  intends,"  Godwin 
went  on.  "  It  is  very  natural —  He  has  squandered  one  fortune, 
and  no  doubt  he  thinks  that  he  can  secure  another  by  merely  offer- 
ing the  title  of  marquise  to  Mrs.  Falconer.  It  is  what  goes  on 
every  day.  I  mean  no  harm  of  him  ;  but  for  her — " 

Stanhope  had  by  this  time  recovered  his  composure.  He  was 
even  able  to  smile.  "  Is  it  possible,"  he  said,  "  that  you  know  so 
little  of  Mrs.  Falconer  as  to  fancy  that  she  could  be  bought  by  a 
title?" 

"By  the  mere  title — no,"  answered  Godwin.  "By  the  advan- 
tages and  attractions  of  the  Marquis  de  Chateaumesnil — it  is  likely. 
You  know — every  one  knows — that  his  success  with  women  is 
great ;  and,  unless  you  wish  to  see  her  throw  away  her  life  by 
marrying  a  ruined  viveur,  you — any  friend  whom  she  has — should 
interfere." 

"  How  ? "  asked  Stanhope.  "  Who  has  any  right  to  interfere  ? 
I  don't  know  a  woman  more  free  than  Mrs.  Falconer,  nor  do  I 
know  one  whose  good  sense  is  more  to  be  trusted.  She  has  made 
one  foolish  marriage :  she  will  never  make  another." 

"  There  is  no  one  of  whom  you  can  affirm  that  with  certainty." 

"Perhaps  not ;  but  I  was  going  on  to  say  that  I  do  not  agree 
with  you  in  thinking  that  this  marriage  would  be  foolish.  No, 
hear  me  out — "  (for  Godwin  was  about  to  speak).  "It  is  true 
that  the  Marquis  de  Chateaumesnil  is  a  ruined  viveur,  but  his  ruin 
is  not  altogether  complete,  and  the  follies  of  his  youth  are  pretty 


162  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

•well  over.  As  we  say  in  English,  he  has  sowed  his  wild  oats. 
What  he  is,  apart  from  those  wild  oats,  nobody  knows  better  than 
I  do;  and  I  am  certain  that  Mrs.  Falconer  might  do  worse  than 
marry  him." 

If  the  expression  of  this  opinion  cost  the  speaker  an  effort,  it 
certainly  astonished  his  hearer.  Godwin  stared  a  moment  before 
he  said,  bluntly : 

"What  are  yon  thinking  of? " 

"I  am  thinking,"  replied  Stanhope,  calmly,  "  of  Mrs.  Falcon- 
er's character.  She  is  an  ambitious  woman,  and  a  woman  in- 
tended by  nature  for  a  distinguished  position  in  life.  Snch  a 
position  the  Marquis  de  Chateaumesnil  can  offer  her ;  and,  if  ever 
France  should  be  happy  enough  to  know  a  stable  government 
again,  he  will  be  one  of  the  foremost  men  in  it,  for,  you  may 
believe  me  or  not,  his  abilities  are  great." 

"  Confound  him !  "  said  Godwin,  in  a  tone  of  disgust  and 
exasperation.  "Who  cares  for  his  abilities?  What  I  care  about 
is  seeing  Mrs.  Falconer  sacrifice  herself  for  the  sake  of  a  distin- 
guished position  in  life  !  " 

"The  question  is,"  said  Stanhope,  "  would  it  be  a  sacrifice?  " 

"  It  strikes  me  that  to  know  her  is  to  answer  the  question," 
said  Godwin.  "  You  wonder,  perhaps,  what  interest  it  is  of 
mine,"  he  went  on,  frowning  more  portentously.  "  Well,  sim- 
ply, that  if  I  was  a  man  capable  of  pleasing  a  woman — which  I 
am  not — I  have  never  seen  any  woman  whom  I  should  like  so 
well  to  please  as  the  one  of  whom  we  speak.  If  I  had  the 
remotest  chance —  But  I  am  not  a  fool :  I  know  that  beautiful 
women  do  not  fancy  bears.  I  can  not  understand,  however  "  — 
here  he  regarded  Stanhope  with  a  glance  of  fierce  contempt — 
"  how  a  man  who  has  a  chance,  can,  from  faint-heartedness  or 
carelessness,  fail  to  put  forth  his  hand  and  seize  it." 

"  Good  Heavens ! "  exclaimed  Stanhope,  gathering  himself 
together  as  best  he  could  under  this  most  unexpected  attack. 
"Is  it  possible  that  you  mean  me?  My  dear  Godwin,  what  are 
you  thinking  of?  In  the  first  place,  I  am  only  Mrs.  Falconer's 
very  good  friend ;  in  the  second  place,  if  I  were  her  lover,  I 
should  have  no  more  chance  than  you  fancy  that  you  have." 

"  Try,"  said  Godwin,  curtly. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  163 

"You  must  really  excuse  me,"  answered  Stanhope.  "And 
you  must  allow  me  to  say  that  this  is  quite  the  most  extraor- 
dinary thing  I  have  ever  known.  Am  I  trouhlesome  in  Mrs. 
Falconer's  salon  ? — do  you  wish  to  get  rid  of  me  ?  I  believe  that, 
according  to  the  etiquette  for  such  cases,  a  rejected  suitor  must 
forswear  the  society  of  his  mistress." 

"You  are  trying  to  baffle  me,"  said  Godwin,  looking  at  him 
with  a  glance  which  might  have  daunted  one  less  strong  in  the 
consciousness  of  integrity.  "  Persiflage  is  not  to  my  taste  when 
I  am  talking  seriously.  I  have  long  felt  sure  that  you  would  he 
the  fortunate  man,  and  I  have  not  grudged  you  your  luck.  But 
I  do  grudge  it,"  he  said,  bringing  his  hand  down  heavily  on  a 
table  by  his  side,  "  if  you  are  so  little  worthy  of  it  as  you  pre- 
tend." 

"  On  my  honor,  you  are  talking  in  enigmas  to  me,"  said 
Stanhope,  seriously  enough  now.  "What  is  it  that  I  am  not 
worthy  of?  The  honor  of  being  rejected  by  Mrs.  Falconer? 
"Will  you  not  believe  .me  when  I  assure  you  that  we  have  not  a 
thought  beyond  friendship  for  each  other  ?  She  is  not  a  woman 
who  would  be  tempted  to  matrimony  without  some  great  advan- 
tage to  recommend  the  step  ;  and  I — as  you  might  be  aware — am 
not  a  marrying  man." 

"  That  is  a  mere  phrase,"  said  Godwin,  "  which  means  noth- 
ing." He  took  another  turn  across  the  floor,  then  stopped  and 
spoke  again,  in  a  tone,  if  possible,  harsher  than  before.  "  I  can 
not  believe,"  he  said,  "that  you  are  as  insensible  as  you  pretend. 
I  can  not  believe  that  any  man  who  has  not  killed  within  himself 
the  possibility  of  feeling,  could  know  such  a  woman  as  intimately 
as  you  know  her,  and  remain  unmoved." 

"Unless,"  said  Stanhope,  looking  up  and  meeting  the  eyes 
bent  on  him,  while  he  spoke  emphatically,  "  the  man  realized 
fully  that  there  must  be  no  such  feeling,  and  was  neither  fool  nor 
coward.  "Why  will  you  not  understand  that  between  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner and  myself  there  are  two  great  barriers — her  wealth  and 
her  ambition  ?  I  have  money  enough  for  my  moderate  wants,  but 
by  her  side  I  am  a  poor  man.  The  Marquis  de  Chateau  in  esnil  is 
comparatively  a  poor  man  also ;  but  he  can  offer  her  high  rank 
and  a  splendid  name.  Do  you  not  see  that,  if  I  were  mad 


164:  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

enough  to  listen  to  you,  I  should  fill  the  contemptible  role  of  a 
suitor  who  had  nothing  to  offer  and  everything  to  gain  ?  Bah ! 
of  what  have  you  heen  dreaming  ?  " 

Again  silence  for  a  minute.  Then  Godwin  said,  slowly :  "  Of 
a  mistake,  it  seems.  Well,  I  have  not  learned  for  the  first  time 
to-day  that  there  is  little  to  be  gained  by  interfering  in  matters 
that  are  not  one's  affair.  But,  for  a  man  who  repudiates  the  idea 
of  any  attachment  to  Mrs.  Falconer,  it  occurs  to  me  that  you  fol- 
low her  very  closely.  Have  I  not  heard  that  you  are  going  to 
Italy  this  winter  ?  " 

"Yes,"  answered  Stanhope,  "I  am  going  to  Italy — do  you 
know  why  ?  Because  Mrs.  Falconer  has  taken  charge  of  a  young 
girl  who  is  my  ward,  and  whom  I  am,  therefore,  in  a  manner 
hound  to  look  after."  He  paused  an  instant,  then  added :  "  "What 
you  may  have  said  to  her  on  the  subject  last  night,  I  do  not 
know  ;  but  she  desired  me  to  tell  you  this." 

"Desired  you  to  tell  me  why  you  are  going?"  asked  Godwin, 
with  a  keen  glance. 

"  Distinctly.  She  said :  '  Mr.  Godwin  seems  to  think  that  I  am 
tempting  you  to  Italy,  and  making  you  waste  time.  Can  you  not 
let  him  know  that  I  am  guiltless  in  the  matter? '  I  promised 
to  let  you  know ;  and  she  added — or  implied  in  an  unmistakable 
manner — that  such  inferences  as  might  be  drawn  were  disagree- 
able to  her.  I  think  that  ought  to  satisfy  you." 

"I  hope  it  satisfies  T/OW,"  said  Godwin,  dryly.  "But,  whatever 
your  feelings  may  be,  I  warn  you  that  if  you  encourage  her  to 
throw  away  her  life  on  an  exhausted  viveur  like  the  Marquis  de 
Chateaumesnil,  you  will  regret  it." 

Now,  few  things  are  more  irritating  than  such  a  warning  as 
this — especially  if  it  is  echoed  by  a  lurking  doubt  or  fear  in  the 
mind  of  the  person  warned — and  Stanhope's  patience  gave  way. 

"  By  Jove ! "  he  said,  "  you  talk  as  if  I  had  anything  to  do  with 
Mrs.  Falconer's  matrimonial  choice !  I  can  not  conceive  anything 
more  improbable  than  that  she  should  ask  my  advice — unless  it  be 
that  I  should  offer  it." 

The  sense  of  irritation  was  still  with  him  when  he  found  him- 
self again  in  the  open  air,  mingled  with  a  curious  bewilderment. 

"  Of  all  men — Godwin !  "  he  was  saying  to  himself.    It  was  a 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  165 

thought  which  dominated  the  other  thoughts  that  had  heen  pre- 
sented to  him — annoying  though  these  were.  The  suggestion  of 
his  own  probable  success  with  Mrs.  Falconer  he  thrust  impatient- 
ly aside,  as  a  fresh  proof  of  the  deeply  rooted  folly  of  the  world 
on  the  subject  of  marriage ;  also  the  warning  with  regard  to  the 
Marquis  de  Chateaumesnil,  which  he  knew  to  rest  on  a  basis  of  su- 
perficial knowledge  and  prejudice.  But,  even  after  the  first  shock 
of  surprise,  his  wonder  seemed  rather  to  grow  than  lessen  that 
Godwin — who  had  always  appeared  to  be  hard  and  rugged  as  his 
native  rocks — should  not  only  prove  susceptible  to  the  tender  pas- 
sion, but  should  be  inspired  with  humility  enough  to  recognize  the 
hopelessness  of  such  feeling  on  his  part,  and  unselfishness  enough 
to  urge  another  to  advance  and  seize  the  prize  that  was  beyond 
his  own  reach !  The  man  who  had  analyzed,  criticised,  described 
love  in  all  its  phases — but  had  never  risen,  through  it,  to  such  a 
height  as  this — felt  as  if  a  new  revelation  of  the  complex  human 
heart  had  been  spread  before  him — a  revelation  the  more  start- 
ling for  its  unexpectedness,  inasmuch  as  it  came — of  all  men — 
from  Godwin. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

ANOTHER  scene  of  those  days  in  Paris,  Stanhope  remembered. 
Returning  from  a  ride  in  the  Bois  one  morning — it  was  the  day 
before  Mrs.  Falconer's  intended  departure  for  Italy — instead  of 
taking  the  usual  horseman's  road  on  the  left  of  the  Avenue,  he 
turned  to  the  right  and  followed  the  upper  way,  leading  past  the 
familiar  gate  through  which  he  had  so  often  gone  to  see  Madame 
Lescar,  and  out  of  which  he  had  followed  her  coffin.  There  is  a 
singular  fascination  in  places  that  we  have  once  known  well ;  their 
aspect  ever  after  is  like  the  face  of  a  familiar  friend,  their  stones 
seem  to  speak  of  a  hundred  memories.  Since  Madame  Lescar's 
death,  Stanhope  had  scarcely  glanced  toward  the  house  as  he 
passed  it;  until  to-day  he  had  certainly  not  thought  of  seeking  it. 
But  now,  as  he  checked  his  horse  and  rode  slowly  by,  it  seemed 
as  if  he  was  again  bidding  farewell  to  the  soul  that  had  gone  forth 
within  those  walls.  How  the  beautiful,  sensitive  face  rose  before 


166  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

him ! — how  he  heard  the  tones  of  the  gentle  voice !  "  My  daugh- 
ter! "  they  were  saying  in  his  ears;  and  then  he  looked  around, 
and  what  was  it  he  saw? — Ir&ne  standing  in  the  gate- way  and 
beckoning  him  with  a  black-gloved  hand !  A  small  boy,  the  son 
of  the  concierge,  came  running  out  to  hold  his  horse. 

"  I  thought,"  she  said,  when  he  dismounted  and  advanced  to 
her,  "  that  you  might  like  to  come  with  me.  I  am  going  to  look  at 
the  rooms  for  the  last  time ;  and — and  you  were  so  kind  to  her — 
But  I  don't  wish  you  to  come  if  it  would  be  painful  to  you," 
she  added,  with  an  instinct  of  possible  reluctance  on  his  part. 

It  would  not  have  been  possible  so  much  as  certain  reluctance 
had  this  been  foretold  to  him.  But  on  the  spot,  with  all  the  as- 
sociations which  it  awakened,  and  with  Irene's  pathetic  glance  on 
him,  he  could  not  acknowledge  that  he  shrank  in  the  least  from 
what  she  proposed. 

"Yes,  I  shall  like  to  go  with  you,"  he  said.  "Thank  you  for 
stopping  me.  It  seems  a  strange  chance  which  brought  me  here 
at  this  moment — yet  it  was  not  a  chance  altogether,  for  I  remem- 
bered—" 

"That  it  is  a  month  to-day  since  she  died?  "  asked  the  girl  in 
a  low  voice.  "  I  have  just  left  the  church  where  a  mass  was  said 
for  her ;  and  I  felt  then  as  if  I  had  strength  to  come  here." 

"  But  you  did  not  come  alone  ?  "  he  said,  quickly. 

"  Oh,  no — I  have  a  maid  with  me.  I  sent  her  to  speak  to  the 
concierge,  while  I  waited  here  for  you — I  saw  you  coming.  Yon- 
der she  is  now." 

They  turned  and  walked  toward  the  woman,  who  appeared 
with  a  key  in  her  hand.  The  concierge  followed  her,  and  stood 
in  the  door  with  a  benevolent  air.  His  wife  also  came  out  of 
their  tiny  lodge.  Both  welcomed  "mademoiselle"  with  that 
charming  courtesy  which  still  lingers  with  the  French — though 
the  spirit  of  democracy  is  fast  destroying  it,  and  teaching  among 
the  first  of  the  rights  of  man  the  right  of  rudeness  and  insolence. 
They  know  Stanhope,  and  were  not  surprised  that  he  should  be 
with  Irene.  "  II  est  le  fiance  de  mademoiselle,  sans  doute,"  the 
concierge  had  long  since  observed  to  his  wife.  Leaving  the  maid 
below,  therefore,  these  two  went  up  together  to  the  second  etage, 
and  Stanhope  opened  the  door. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  167 

Who  does  not  know  the  aspect,  the  feeling  of  closed  and  de- 
serted rooms  ?  And  when  they  are  rooms  from  which  a  heloved 
presence  has  passed  for  ever,  the  chill  is  one  that  strikes  to  the 
heart.  Stanhope  made  haste  to  open  the  windows;  but  the  sun- 
light could  not  dissipate  the  gloom.  It  only  fell  over  Irene — who 
stood  in  her  black  draperies  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  her  hands 
clasped  over  her  heart — and  wrapped  her  in  a  saint-like  glory. 
There  was  nothing  of  saintly  victory,  however,  but  rather  the 
stress  of  anguish  and  conflict,  in  her  sad  face  and  sorrowful 
eyes. 

"  A  month ! "  she  was  whispering  to  herself  as  she  looked 
around  with  a  glance  that  took  in  every  familiar  spot.  "  Oh,  my 
mother,  my  darling,  my  best-beloved,  I  have  been  alive  a  month 
without  yon ! " 

They  were  in  the  salon;  but  presently  she  turned  and  moved 
slowly  across  the  room  to  the  door  which  opened  into  what  had 
been«her  mother's  chamber.  She  paused  a  moment  with  her  hand 
on  the  lock,  as  if  to  enter  was  almost  more  than  she  had  strength 
to  do,  then  turned  it  quickly  and  went  in. 

Needless  to  say  that  Stanhope  did  not  follow.  There,  where 
the  spirit  had  taken  its  flight,  where  the  fair  shell  of  mortality 
had  lain,  was  for  the  daughter  a  sacred  spot  into  which  he  had  no 
thought  of  intruding.  Indeed,  for  him  every  association  with  Ma- 
dame Lescar  save  the  last  had  its  scene  in  the  apartment  in  which 
he  stood.  It  was  here  that  she  had  begged  him  to  accept  the  care 
of  Irene's  future ;  here  that  she  had  described  the  girl  in  terms 
that  he  felt  would  be  both  warning  and  guide  to  him  in  any  emer- 
gency which  that  future  might  hold ;  here  that  she  had  expressed 
her  gratitude  for  Mrs.  Falconer's  promise,  and  here  that  she  had 
thanked  him  in  words  of  sweetness  that  came  back  to  him  now, 
with  her  look,  her  tone. — Something  like  a  mist  was  before  his 
sight  as  he  walked  quickly  to  the  open  window.  The  soft,  warm 
air — a  true  St.  Martin's  Summer  day  it  was — met  him  like  a  caress ; 
the  bending  sky  was  limpid  and  stainless.  At  his  feet  rolled  the 
brilliant,  shifting  tide  of  the  great  artery  of  pleasure,  aa  on  the 
day  he  had  first  stood  there  and  thought  of  the  life  which,  like  a 
wreck,  the  world  had  flung  aside.  What  now  was  that  world, 
with  its  honors  and  pleasures,  its  heart-break  and  struggle,  to  her? 


1C8  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"  Gentle  and  heroic  soul,"  he  thought,  "  wherever  in  God's  great 
universe  you  may  be,  surely  it  is  well  with  you !  " 

Then,  from  the  mother  his  thoughts  passed  to  the  daughter. 
As  yet  he  had  scarcely  felt  the  responsibility  which  had  been  laid 
upon  him,  so  much  had  Mrs.  Falconer's  kindness  lifted  the  first 
burden  of  it;  but  now  the  realization  began  to  grow  and  deepen. 
Distinctly — as  if  he  had  heard  them  the  day  before — he  remem- 
bered all  of  Madame  Lescar's  words  on  the  occasion  of  his  first 
visit  here,  and  especially  some  pathetic  ones.  "I  am  poor  in 
friends,"  she  said,  "  but,  were  I  rich  in  them,  I  should  still  prefer 
you  for  this  trust  to  any  one  else  in  the  world;  for  you  possess 
the  ability  to  read  such  a  nature  as  Irene's,  and  the  wisdom  to 
guide  it.  I  should  feel  safe  if  I  left  her  to  your  care."  Was  it 
wonderful  that,  standing  where  these  words  had  been  spoken,  with 
the  memory  of  yet  another  day  when  a  dying  hand  had  grasped 
his,  and  a  dying  voice  had  thanked  him,  he  registered  a  solemn 
vow  in  his  inmost  heart  that  he  would  never  suffer  the  effect  of 
passing  time  to  weaken  his  sense  of  the  meaning  of  the  trust? 
That  his  mind  misgave  him  with  regard  to  Irene's  future  was, 
however,  not  remarkable.  For  such  a  creature  it  was  impossible 
to  conceive  a  commonplace  destiny ;  yet  in  all  that  lies  outside  the 
commonplace,  how  great  the  peril,  how  slender  the  prospect  of 
happiness  for  woman,  he  knew  well.  Every  gift  of  mind,  every 
grace  of  person,  seemed  but  an  irony  of  fortune  to  one  on  whom 
the  consequences  of  a  deep  wrong  had  so  darkly  fallen.  After 
all,  it  was  no  wonder,  he  thought,  that  she  found  it  impossible 
to  forgive  the  man  who  had  flung  wife  and  child  out  of  his  path 
like  broken  toys,  and  walked  to  greatness  over  their  ruined  lives. 
"Would  she  ever  gain  the  height  of  the  tender  and  noble  soul 
which  had  felt  that  no  wrong  was  "  worth  resentment "  ?  "Would 
the  passionate  heart  ever  learn  the  lesson  contained  in  that  beau- 
tiful saying  of  St.  Francis  de  Sales,  "  Blessed  are  the  hearts  that 
bend,  for  they  shall  never  break  "?  He  was  asking  himself  these 
questions  when  the  sound  of  a  step,  the  soft  rustle  of  a  dress, 
made  him  turn  to  face  her  of  whom  his  thoughts  were  full. 

"Have  I  kept  you  long?"  she  asked,  with  strange  composure 
— but  she  was  so  pale  that  he  quickly  moved  a  chair  toward  her, 
into  which  she  sunk  like  one  who  might  else  have  fallen.  "It  is 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  169 

nothing,"  she  whispered  after  a  moment;  "only,  in  there  I 
remembered,  I  realized  so  clearly!— I  lived  it  over  again— I  al- 
most think  I  heard  her  speak!  My  mother,  my  mother,  can  it 
be  that  I  shall  never  hear  you  speak  again !  " 

He  was  glad  to  see  the  tears  come  then  in  blinding  torrents. 
Such  a  storm  of  emotion  would  be  followed  by  exhaustion ;  but 
that  was  better  than  the  state  which  had  preceded  it.  Leaving 
her,  lie  went  down  to  the  concierge  for  a  glass  of  wine,  and  when 
he  returned  he  found  that  the  lull  had  already  come.  She  was 
struggling  for  self-control ;  and,  as  he  put  the  wine  to  her  lips,  she 
looked  up  at  him  with  piteous  apology. 

"  I  am  sorry — very  sorry,"  she  said.  "  I  have  distressed  you, 
and  I  did  not  want  to  do  that.  I  thought  all  this  was  over — or 
I  would  not  have  asked  you  to  come.  In  the  church  1  felt  so 
calm,  so  certain  that  it  is  better  for  her.  But  now — here — it  is 
my  own  desolation  that  I  feel !  " 

She  stopped,  and  he  bade  her  drink  the  wine  and  not  talk. 
Like  a  child  she  obeyed,  and  it  was  several  minutes  before  she 
began  to  speak  again.  Then,  though  calm,  she  was  trembling  like 
an  aspen-leaf,  and  tears  were  shining  on  her  lashes  and  lying  wet 
on  the  lily-white  cheeks. 

"When  I  went  there,"  she  said,  with  a  motion  toward  the 
door  of  the  room  she  had  left,  "  I  felt  as  if  it  might  ease  the  in- 
tolerable sense  of  loss  if  I  knelt  by  the  chair  in  which  she  died, 
and  kissed  the  cushions  against  which  she  had  leaned.  But,  as  I 
did  so,  only  one  thought,  one  remembrance  came  to  me — that  of 
her  last  request!  I  seemed  to  hear  her  voice — her  words.  O 
Mr.  Stanhope" — she  looked  up  at  him  with  a  glance  of  passion- 
ate appeal — "is  it  not  hard  that  such  a  thing  should  come  be- 
tween my  mother  and  me?  Am  I  never  to  think  of  her  without 
remembering  that  I  refused  to  give  the  promise  she  asked  with 
her  dying  breath  ?  " 

"But,"  said  he  compassionately,  "you  did  not  refuse.  You 
gave  all  that  she  asked — you  promised  to  try." 

"Yes,  and  I  have  tried,"  she  answered.  "  But  after  a  month 
of  struggle — of  effort — of  prayer — I  have  failed !  I  could  sooner 
die  than  say  from  my  heart — if  it  was  not  from  the  heart  what 
value  would  it  have  ? — that  I  forgive  him !  " 


170  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

It  was  easy  indeed  to  see  that.  The  great  eyes  dilated,  and 
through  their  tears  a  flash  of  fire  came — fire  which  not  even  the 
mighty  waters  of  grief  had  quenched. 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  Stanhope,  "but  not  surprised.  The  mis- 
take you  have  committed  has  been  in  making  the  straggle  at  all 
— now.  Poor  child,  had  you  not  enough  to  suffer  without  tear- 
ing yourself  to  pieces  in  such  an  effort  ?  I  can  offer  you  no 
better  counsel  than  this — have  patience  with  yourself.  Your 
mother  was  too  wise,  too  reasonable,  to  expect  you  to  accomplish 
what  she  asked  in  a  day,  or  a  month.  It  must  be  a  work  of 
time." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  I  do  not  think  time  will  have  any 
effect,"  she  said.  "It  can  not  change  what  has  been  done — it 
can  not  alter  what  is.  Nothing  can  alter  that.  Nothing  can 
bring  her  back,  or  undo  the  wrong—" 

"  And  if  you  could  bring  her  back,  if  yon  could  undo  the 
wrong  and  put  her  in  her  rightful  place  to-day,  would  you  do 
it?"  asked  he.  "You  know  that  you  would  not.  You  know 
that,  apart  from  what  faith  tells  you  she  has  merited,  she  tri- 
umphed over  wrong  in  a  manner  which  those  who  knew  her  can 
never  forget ;  she  set,  as  it  were,  her  foot  upon  it,  and  rose  into 
an  atmosphere  where  it  had  no  power  to  sully  her.1' 

"  She  did  that — all  that — my  beautiful,  noble  mother  1 "  said 
the  girl  with  a  flood  of  tears  such  as  we  weep  at  the  praise  of 
those  dearer  to  us  than  our  heart's-blood  and  far  from  us  as 
eternity  is  far  from  time.  " But  what  then?  I  am  not  made  like 
her — I  can  not  conquer  wrong  by  rising  above  it." 

"  Then  you  must  own  yourself  conquered  by  it,"  said  Stan- 
hope. "  And  that  you  will  never  do.  I  have  no  fear.  Your 
mother's  example,  your  mother's  desire,  must  tell  on  you.  And, 
meanwhile,  my  earnest  advice  to  you  is  to  put  all  memory  of 
your  promise  as  far  as  possible  from  your  mind — the  very  strug- 
gle to  forgive  keeps  resentment  alive." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "that  is  true.  I  have  never  felt  less  able  to 
forgive  than  since  I  have  been  struggling  to  do  so.  It  has  made 
me  realize  the  wrong  even  more  clearly  than  I  did  before." 

"  Therefore,  cease  to  struggle.  Try,  instead,  to  forget.  You 
shake  your  head— you  think  that  is  not  much  easier  ?  You  are 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  1Y1 

too  young  yet  to  have  learned  that,  of  all  things  in  this  world,  it 
is  easiest.  And  time,  after  all,  is  the  supreme  conqueror.  Some 
day — believe  me,  some  day  you  will  find  it  possible  to  say,  'I  for- 
give."' 

"I  can  not  even  desire  that  such  a  day  may  come,"  she  said; 
"so  you  see  how  much  hope  there  is  of  it.  Though  I  have  strug- 
gled hard  to  do  what  she  asked,  because  she  asked  it,  I  have  not 
even  reached  the  point  of  wishing  to  forgive.  I  would  far  rather 
— but  I  will  not  talk  of  that !  I  am  sure  you  are  right  about  the 
effort  to  forget,  but  how  am  I  to  make  it  ?  " 

"  It  can  only  be  made  in  one  way,"  he  answered — "  that  is, 
by  filling  the  mind  with  other  thoughts.  You  are  going  into  a 
new  life — try  not  to  let  the  shadow  of  the  past  darken  it.  If  you 
had  some  absorbing  occupation — " 

"I  might  have,"  she  said,  as  he  paused.  She  pointed  to  the 
closed  piano.  "More  than  an  occupation — a  career — lies  there. 
Shall  I  take  it?" 

"What  do  you  mean?  "  he  asked — though  he  knew  very  well 
what  she  meant. 

"  My  kind  old  maestro  in  Milan  thinks  that  I  am  meant  by 
nature  for  the  lyric  stage,"  she  replied.  "  Shall  I,  according  to 
his  desire,  begin  the  study  for  it  ?  " 

"I  am  not  aware  that  his  desire  has  anything  to  do  with  it," 
said  Stanhope,  to  whom  this  was  far  from  a  pleasant  revelation. 
"Yours,  of  course,  has — though  you  will  pardon  me  for  adding 
that  what  your  mother  thought  of  such  an  intention  on  your  part 
is  even  more  important." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  the  girl  answered,  "for  /never  thought  of 
it  while  she  lived.  It  is  only  since  her  death  that  I  am  conscious 
of  the  wish  to  fling  myself  into  some  absorbing  pursuit — some- 
thing that  will  deaden  thought  and  pain.  And  if — if  my  pride 
is  averse  to  the  stage,  I  feel  that  to  be  all  the  more  reason  why  I 
should  not  shrink  from  going  where  she  went." 

"  Ah !  "  said  Stanhope — which  meant  that  the  last  words  gave 
him  the  clew  he  needed.  "  But  you  forget  that  in  the  sense  you 
mean,  she  did  not  go  on  the  stage ;  and,  further,  that  there  was 
a  necessity  in  her  case  which  does  not  exist  in  yours.  She  sang 
in  public  in  order  to  obtain  for  herself  and  for  you  the  means  to 


172  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

live.  Why,  then,  should  you  set  aside  all  that  she  did,  and  make 
it  of  no  account?  The  fortune 'which  she  left  you  is  small,  but 
have  you  need  for  more  ?  " 

"Do  you  imagine  that  I  am  thinking  of  money?"  she  asked, 
with  a  quick  flash  in  her  glance. 

"  Most  of  those  who  go  on  the  stage  think  of  it,"  he  answered. 
"  I  do  not  suppose  there  is  in  the  world  a  more  mercenary  class 
of  people,  taken  generally,  than  famous  singers.  It  is  very  likely 
that  if  you  followed  the  counsel  of  your  maestro,  you  might  achieve 
a  great  success;  but,  unless  1  read  your  character  wrongly,  it 
would  bring  nothing  to  compensate  you  for  the  drawbacks  of  the 
career — for  the  bondage  in  which  you  would  be  bound,  for  the 
sense  that  you  had  left  the  grace  and  dignity  of  private  life  for 
ever  behind  you,  for  the  insults  from  which  no  care  could  shield 
you,  for  the  feverish  excitement  and  the  tinsel  fame.  These 
things  are  not  felt  by  one  born  to  them,  a  child  of  the  stage  and 
its  traditions ;  but  you  were  born  for  a  different  destiny." 

"  You  forget,"  she  said,  in  a  choking  voice,  "  that  I  was  born 
to — nothing." 

"Nay,"  he  answered,  gently,  "  you  were  born  to  follow  in  the 
footsteps  of  one  who  is  gone,  and  to  prove,  as  she  did,  that  '  no 
wrong  done  by  another  can  degrade  you.' " 

She  caught  her  breath  with  a  convulsive  sob,  and  for  a  min- 
ute there  was  silence.  Then — 

"  I  see,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "how  wise  my  dear  mother 
•was  in  bidding  me  be  guided  by  you.  I  could  almost  believe  she 
had  spoken.  I  will  think  no  more  of  the  stage." 

"  I  do  not  say  that,"  he  answered — as  much  surprised  as  relieved 
by  such  unexpected  docility — "  but  you  must  make  no  rash  resolu- 
tions. You  are  not  able  to  decide  on  your  future  now.  Con- 
tinue to  cultivate  your  voice  if  you  will — indeed,  my  advice  to  you 
is  to  do  so — and  six  months  hence,  if  you  desire  it,  we  will  talk 
of  this  again." 

"  Six  months  hence ! "  she  repeated,  her  glance  wandering 
round  the  room  with  lingering  wistfulness,  then  turning  through 
the  window  in  the  direction  of  the  distant  height  of  Montmartre. 
"Six  months  hence  I  shall  be  that  much  farther  from  her — or 
should  I  say  nearer  to  her?— than  to-day  !  " 


PART    II. 

CHAPTER  I. 

BY  the  first  of  March  there  is  an  atmosphere  of  spring  in 
Rome.  The  air  may  still  be  sharp  in  the  high,  narrow  streets,  and 
cold,  with  a  chill  which  strikes  to  the  heart,  in  the  great  galleries 
and  marble  churches ;  but  in  the  gardens  of  the  villas  violets  are 
blooming  everywhere,  and  the  sunshine  lies  warm  and  bright  over 
the  wide  expanse  of  the  Campagna,  where  wild  flowers  are  spring- 
ing in  profusion,  and  the  long  undulations,  like  giant  billows,  are 
growing  green.  The  beautiful  outlines  of  the  Alban  and  the 
Sabine  Hills  wear  the  softest  tints  of  azure,  and  away  beyond 
Soracte  the  snow-clad  peaks  of  the  higher  Apennines  rise  against 
a  sky  of  tender  blue.  Even  over  the  time-worn  face  of  the  city 
which  has  witnessed  such  myriads  of  springs,  a  smile  seems  to 
break.  The  characteristic  Roman  life  flows  out  rejoicing  into  the 
piazzas,  women  group  around  the  fountains,  children  laugh  in  the 
sunshine,  people  lean  from  balconies  or  gossip  in  door-ways,  soft- 
eyed  girls  are  offering  fragrant  bunches  of  violets  at  every  corner 
— spring  has  come  with  a  tide  of  joyous  movement,  a  great  thrill 
of  awakening  life. 

There  are  some  people  to  whom  the  changes  of  season  are 
fraught  with  influences  almost  as  deep  as  those  to  which  Nature 
responds  with  bud  and  leaf.  The  breath  of  spring  stirs  the  cur- 
rent of  their  being,  as  it  stirs  the  sap  of  trees,  the  dormant 
roots  of  flowers  and  grass.  There  is  a  poem  in  the  sunshine, 
a  something  too  subtile  and  sweet  for  utterance  in  the  delicate 
clouds  of  blossom,  the  sparkling  mist  of  distant  hills.  And  if 
there  is  hardly  a  spot  of  earth  where  this  influence  may  not  be 
felt,  what  is  it  in  Rome,  where  all  influences  meet  and  center  ? 


174  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

Irene  could  scarcely  have  told,  perhaps;  but  she  felt  all  that  it 
meant.  With  the  opening  season  she  began  for  the  first  time  to 
rally  from  the  long  depression  of  poignant  grief.  The  weight  of 
sadness  seemed  in  a  measure  lifted  from  her.  It  does  not  follow 
that  people  forget  because  they  cease  to  mourn  "as  one  refusing 
to  be  comforted."  Remembrance  may  live  under  smiles  as  well 
as  under  tears.  Indeed,  the  truest,  the  sweetest,  the  deepest  hearts 
are  those  which  remember  in  this  way — which  with  a  cheerful 
spirit  go  to  meet  all  fair  and  pleasant  gifts  of  God,  yet  carry  in 
sunshine  or  in  shadow  the  tender  memory  of  some  buried  past. 
So  it  was  that,  after  long  and  passionate  sorrow,  a  realization  of 
better  wisdom  was  borne  to  Irene  in  the  sweetness  of  this  Eoman 
spring.  Would  it  have  been  so  elsewhere?  It  is  doubtful.  In 
this  Eternal  City  all  things  speak  of  eternity  to  the  thinking  mind, 
the  feeling  soul :  the  solemn  glory  of  the  churches,  with  their 
tombs  and  shrines  of  imperishable  memories,  the  earth  which  has 
been  soaked  with  the  blood  of  martyrs,  the  stones  which  have 
known  the  footsteps  of  unnumbered  saints,  the  tranquil  spaces  of 
convent-gardens,  the  beauty  of  cloisters  where  holiness  and  learn- 
ing have  made  their  home  for  centuries,  all  the  mighty  past,  which 
in  Rome  can  not  be  put  aside,  thatTconfronts  one  at  every  turn — 
these  things  told  slowly  but  surely  upon  her,  as  Mrs.  Falconer  had 
hoped  that  they  might. 

It  was  certainly  a  different- looking  girl  from  the  one  who  left 
Paris,  who  stood  on  a  sunny  afternoon  in  the  garden  of  Santa 
Silvia  on  the  Coelian  Hill,  and  gazed  over  the  scene  before  her. 
Sorrow  had  indeed  set  its  enduring  stamp  on  the  countenance, 
which  had  much  matured,  and  gained  greater  depth  and  intensity 
of  expression,  since  the  day  she  was  introduced  to  Mrs.  Falconer, 
as  well  as  to  the  reader,  in  the  Avenue  du  Bois  de  Boulogne.  It 
is  not  for  any  child  of  man  to  pass  through  the  dark  valley  of  an 
intense  grief  and  bear  no  after-sign  or  token  of  it.  Many  such 
signs  were  evident  in  Irene  to  those  who  had  known  her  before 
the  blow  fell ;  yet  they  were  signs  which  only  those  who  knew 
her  well  would  now  perceive.  When  she  left  Paris  she  was  little 
more  than  a  pale  shadow  and  picture  of  grief;  now  the  fair  cheek 
had  rounded  again,  the  beautiful  lips  could  smile,  the  violet 
shadows  lay  no  darker  than  Nature  intended  under  the  wonderful 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  175 

eyes.  She  was  a  study  of  loveliness,  though  she  thought  little  of 
it,  as  she  stood  in  her  tall,  slender  grace,  her  perfect  head  rising, 
with  classic  effect,  from  the  dark  folds  of  her  mourning  dress,  in 
this  old  garden  with  its  picturesque  surroundings. 

She  had  just  emerged  with  her  companion  from  the  church  of 
San  Gregorio,  and  uttered  a  soft  cry  of  surprise  and  pleasure, 
when  the  Cistercian  monk  opened  a  side-door,  and  the  view  burst 
on  her,  together  with  the  soft  glowing  outer  air.  She  had  hardly 
realized  before  how  closely  grouped  around  the  spot  are  the  most 
famous  monuments  of  ancient  Rome.  In  front  rose  the  Palatine, 
crowned  with  those  somber  masses  of  ruin,  shaded  by  dark  groups 
of  cypress,  which  are  all  that  remains  of  the  palace  of  the  Caesars 
— a  picture  which  no  familiarity  can  ever  make  less  impressive. 
Desolate  beyond  all  expression,  solemn  and  deserted,  like  a  spot 
accursed,  it  stands — this  hill  round  which  Eomulus  traced  the 
mystic  circle  of  his  city  with  the  yoked  heifer  and  bull,  from 
which  went  forth  the  force  to  subdue  and  rule  the  world,  and 
where  the  long  line  of  emperors  rivaled  each  other  in  crime 
and  cruelty,  and  unimaginable  excesses.  Yonder  are  the  broken 
arches  of  the  great  amphitheatre  where,  for  their  pleasure,  the 
martyrs  of  Christ  died  by  fire,  and  sword,  and  wild  beast3.  There 
are  the  cyclopean  walls  of  the  Baths  of  Caracalla,  with  their  tes- 
timony to  the  luxury  of  the  imperial  and  pagan  city — the  luxury 
which  sapped  the  foundations  of  Roman  strength  and  valor. 
And  here — O  contrast  only  possible  in  Rome! — in  the  church  of 
St.  Gregory,  is  the  cell  of  the  monk  who,  called  forth  from  that 
cell  to  rule  the  church  of  God,  "gave  the  last  blow  to  the  power 
of  the  Csosars,  and  first  set  his  foot  as  sovereign  on  the  cradle  and 
capital  of  their  greatness " — the  majestic  Pontiff  whose  figure 
seems  near  to  us  as  we  look  across  at  the  Palatine  Hill,  yet  who 
on  this  spot  gave  his  parting  blessing  to  St.  Augustine  and  the 
monks  who  went  with  him  as  missionaries  to  carry  the  light  of 
faith  to  England,  and  of  whom  Montalembert  has  well  written, 
"  (Test  lui  qui  inaugure  le  moyen  dge,  la  societe  moderne  et  la  civi- 
lisation ehretwnne.^ 

"  Truly  Rome  is  an  awful  place — the  weight  of  its  memories 
is  enough  to  crush  one ! "  thought  the  girl,  as  she  stood  with 
clasped  hands,  trying  to  picture  all  the  innumerable  scenes  of 


176  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

history  that  had  been  enacted  on  the  space  of  earth  that  lay 
beneath  her  gaze.  That  quiet  road,  coming  from  the  Via  Appia 
and  leading  toward  the  Forum,  what  is  it  but  the  Via  Triumpha- 
lis,  along  which  the  victorious  generals  passed  with  their  legions 
and  captives  and  the  conquered  wealth  of  tribute  nations,  in  the 
gorgeous  spectacle  of  a  Roman  triumph  to  the  temple  of  Jupiter 
on  the  Capitoline  Hill?  Along  that  way  St.  Paul  was  led,  "hav- 
ing appealed  unto  Caesar,"  to  the  quarters  of  the  praatorian 
guard  and  the  judgment-seat  of  Fero.  Along  there  St.  Peter 
fled,  to  meet  on  the  Appian  Way  the  well-known  figure  of  his 
Lord,  to  cry,  "  Domine  quo  vadis  ?  "  and  to  be  sent  back  by  the 
answer  to  suffer,  head  downward,  on  the  height  of  Janiculum. 
And  that  defaced  arch,  is  it  not  the  Arch  of  Constantine,  erected 
in  memory  of  the  victory,  won  under  the  sign  of  the  cross, 
which  ended  the  long  persecution  of  three  hundred  years  and 
brought  the  Church  forth  from  the  Catacombs,  to  conquer  the 
world? 

There  was  a  dazzled  expression  in  the  girl's  eyes  when  she 
slowly  turned  at  last.  It  was  caused  less  by  the  sunshine  than  by 
the  visions  that  had  risen  before  her.  How  tranquil  this  small 
space,  partially  inclosed  by  soft-toned  church  and  convent-walls, 
looked!  Violets  were  blooming  in  profusion  along  all  the  bor- 
ders; the  monk  in  his  picturesque  habit  was  stooping  to  gather 
some,  while  Mrs.  Vance  stood  by,  talking  to  him  in  broken  Ital- 
ian. "  Si,  signora"  he  was  saying.  Irene  was  touched  by  his 
gentle,  worn  face,  his  dark,  kind  eyes.  When  he  divided  the  flow- 
ers and  offered  her  half,  she  thanked  him  with  a  smile. 

"  One  feels  as  if  they  ought  to  be  sweeter  here  than  else- 
where,1' she  said.  "  Thirteen  hundred  years  ago  St.  Gregory 
must  often  have  walked  where  we  are  walking  now.  How  he 
regretted  the  peace  that  he  left  here!  It  seems  to  be  here  yet," 
said  she,  looking  round. 

From  the  garden  they  went  to  the  chapels,  and  there  Irene 
might  have  lingered  long,  but  for  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Vance, 
who,  though  developing  a  praiseworthy  desire  to  see  what  she 
called  "  the  objects  of  interest "  of  Rome,  had  an  appetite  for 
those  objects  very  soon  satisfied.  She  looked  obediently  at  the 
famous  frescoes  of  Guido  and  Domenichino,  at  the  great  statue  of 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  177 

St.  Gregory,  and  at  the  table  where  he  daily  fed  twelve  poor 
pilgrims,  and  where,  the  heautiful  legend  tells,  he  one  day  found 
an  angel  as  tbe  thirteenth;  but  her  capacity  for  interest  and 
admiration  being  limited,  Irene  knew  that  she  was  soon  ready 
to  go,  and  had  not  the  selfishness  to  detain  her.  So  it  came  to 
pass  that,  half  an  hour  later,  they  were  descending  the  noble 
flight  of  steps  that  leads  to  the  front  of  the  church,  when  they 
met  a  young  man  ascending  them,  who  paused  and  lifted  his  hat, 
eagerly  smiling.  It  was  Erne. 

"  How  fortunate  I  am  to  find  you  still  here  1  "  he  cried.  "  I 
have  hurried,  but  I  was  afraid  you  would  be  gone." 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  Irene.  "And  how  did  you 
know  that  we  were  here  ? " 

"Antonio  told  me.  'They  have  gone  to  San  Gregorio,'  he 
said.  So,  I  followed  post-haste — or,  rather,  cab-haste." 

"  But  why  ? "  asked  the  girl  again. 

The  young  man  turned  with  an  injured  air  to  Mrs.  Vance. 
"Did  you  ever  hear  anything  more  uncivil?"  he  demanded. 
"  Of  course,  it  is  understood  that  I  have  made  all  this  haste  to 
enjoy  the  afternoon  with  yon." 

The  elder  lady  laughed.  "  You  are  very  good  indeed,"  she 
said.  "  But  we  have  finished  sight-seeing  for  the  present,  and 
now  we  are  going  to  drive." 

"I  can  drive  with  you,  can  not  I?  That  is,  if  Mademoiselle 
Lescar  will  graciously  permit.  But  there  is  time  enough  for 
driving.  I  want  you  to  come  to  the  Villa  Mattei,  and  see  the 
view  of  the  Campagna  from  its  terrace." 

"  Is  it  far  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Vance,  hesitating.  She  wanted  to 
sink  back  in  the  luxurious  carriage  that  awaited  them,  draw  her 
fur-lined  cloak  about  her,  and  with  a  rug  over  her  knees  enjoy 
the  pleasure  of  motion  without  exertion ;  she  could  not  believe 
that  there  was  anything  in  a  view  of  the  Campagna,  with  which 
she  felt  herself  already  sufficiently  familiar,  to  compensate  for 
deferring  this  pleasure. 

':It  is  very  near  at  hand,"  answered  Erne,  "  and,  if  yon  have 
not  seen  it,  I  think  you  will  he  wrong  to  miss  tbe  view  from  the 
garden." 

"  We  have  seen  a  great  many  views,"  observed  Mrs.  Vance, 


178  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

•with  an  appealing  look  over  the  Palatine. — "  But  what  do  you 
say,  my  dear  ? " 

"  Let  us  go,"  answered  IrSne.  "  It  will  not  take  us  long ;  and, 
as  Mr.  Erne  says,  there  is  time  enough  for  driving." 

So,  smothering  a  sigh,  Mrs.  Vance  consented,  and,  as  they  had 
by  this  time  reached  the  carriage,  Erne  handed  them  in  and  fol- 
lowed, after  bidding  the  coachman  drive  to  the  Villa  Mattel.  Mrs. 
Vance  could  not  deny  that  it  was  very  near  at  hand,  when  they 
stopped  at  its  gate,  nor  could  she  refrain  from  acknowledging  that 
it  was  well  to  have  come,  when  they  walked  through  the  lovely, 
quiet  grounds,  with  their  long  alleys  bordered  by  tall  hedges  of 
clipped  box,  their  wealth  of  sweet  spring  flowers,  their  ancient 
statues  and  columns.  And  when  they  presently  emerged  on  the 
terrace,  she  echoed  Irene's  exclamation  of  delight. 

For  it  was  a  glorious  view  which  lay  before  them.  The  noble 
Campagna,  with  its  indescribable  shades  and  gradations  of  color, 
crossed  by  the  mighty  lines  of  the  broken  aqueducts,  stretched 
afar  until  bounded  by  the  beautiful  outlines  and  exquisite  tints  of 
the  Alban  Hills,  on  the  sides  of  which,  like  spots  of  glittering 
light,  the  different  towns  and  villages — Frascati,  Albano,  and 
many  more — shone  in  the  sunshine.  A  divine  sky  overarched  the 
wide  expanse ;  cloud-shadows  were  softly  falling  here  and  there 
— now  on  the  plain,  now  over  the  distant  mountains — like  deep 
notes  in  some  mighty  harmony.  In  the  near  foreground  were  the 
walls  of  Kome,  the  secluded  valley  which  contains  the  Fountain 
of  Egeria  and  the  ruined  Baths  of  Caracalla ;  while  at  the  other 
extremity  of  the  Coelian,  the  great  Basilica  of  St.  John  Lateran 
stood  in  full  relief,  the  statues  on  its  roof  clear-cut  against  the 
sapphire  sky. 

" "Was  I  not  right  to  bring  you  here? "  asked  Erne,  presently, 
of  the  girl  who  stood  silent  and  motionless  gazing  over  the  scene. 

She  turned  her  shining  eyes  on  him.  "  Why  did  you  not  bring 
me  long  ago  ?  "  she  asked. 

""Well,"  he  answered,  "you  know  my  suggestions  are  not  al- 
ways favorably  received.  I  have  proposed  to  do  so  several 
times,  but  you  were  indifferent,  and  others  made  objec- 
tions—" 

"  Yes,  I  have  been  very  indifferent,"  said  she,  in  a  low  voice. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  lYl> 

\ 

"  But  now  I  begin  to  feel  as  if  all  these  beautiful  scenes  had  a    \ 
message  for  me.     I  am  glad  that  you  brought  us  here." 

Then  she  turned  and  walked  slowly  onward  along  the  broad 
terrace.  Erne  followed  with  Mrs.  Vance,  for  he  knew  Irene  well 
enough  by  this  time  to  be  aware  that  she  desired  to  be  alone.  He 
contented  himself,  therefore,  with  answering  his  companion's  ques- 
tions with  regard  to  every  prominent  object  on  the  wide  land- 
scape, while  watching  the  graceful  figure  that  moved  in  front  of 
them.  Slowly  as  it  moved,  however,  Mrs.  Yance  moved  even  more 
slowly,  so  that  the  distance  between  them  gradually  widened. 
Presently  he  saw  Irene  pause  at  the  opening  entrance  of  the  ilex 
avenue  that  leads  from  the  terrace  to  the  villa.  A  seat  is  placed 
there,  on  which  an  inscription  tells  that  "  here  St.  Philip  Neri 
loved  to  sit  and  speak  with  his  companions  of  the  things  of  God." 
It  is  truly  a  spot  for  saint  as  well  as  poet.  The  ilexes— most 
picturesque  of  trees — meet  overhead  ;  behind  is  the  green  obscu- 
rity of  the  avenue  lined  with  fragments  of  ancient  sculpture  ;  in 
front  the  Campagna  with  its  spreading  horizon,  its  far  faint  hills, 
its  storied  ruins,  lying  under  a  mist  soft  as  a  magic  glamour. 

The  beauty  and  the  associations  of  the  scene  moved  Irene  in  a 
manner  impossible  to  describe.  She  almost  seemed  to  hear  the 
voice  of  the  gentle  saint  of  Rome,  as  she  looked  beyond  bastioned 
steep  and  classic  ruins  to  the  eternal  sky  and  the  heavenly  hills. 
That  the  thought  of  her  mother  came  to  her  with  peculiar  force 
was  not  surprising.  It  was  always  an  underlying  consciousness, 
and  all  beautiful,  all  holy,  all  touching  things,  led  directly  to  it ; 
for  it  has  been  well  said  that  when  living  our  friends  are  with  us 
sometimes,  when  dead  with  us  always.  As  she  so  stood — her 
face  unveiled,  her  large,  wistful  eyes  fastened  on  the  distant  hori- 
zon— she  seemed  like  the  embodiment  of  some  exquisite  vision 
to  a  man  who  was  advancing  under  the  shade  of  the  ilex-trees 
toward  her. 

He  was  a  young  man,  with  an  air  of  high  breeding,  and  some- 
thing in  manner  or  bearing  which  seemed  to  indicate  a  habit  of 
command.  It  may  have  been  the  carriage  of  the  head  which  sug- 
gested this,  or  the  proud  outline  of  the  face,  which  was  strikingly 
intellectual  and  also  singularly  cold.  "A  man  of  marble  or  ice — 
ma  foi,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  melting  him !  "  a  fascinating 


180  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

Frenchwoman  had  once  declared,  shrugging  her  shoulders  in  de- 
spair. Marble  or  ice  he  might  be,  yet  there  was  a  poetic  side  to 
his  nature,  as  a  physiognomist  would  have  told  from  the  shape  of 
his  brow — a  side  not  very  much  cultivated,  probably,  yet  existing 
for  all  that,  and  awakened  now  by  the  sight  of  this  girl  with  her 
fair  face  and  sorrowful  eyes.  She  was  like  a  picture,  framed  by 
the  green  opening,  with  the  sky  and  the  Campagna  and  the  far 
blue  hills  as  a  background.  To  read  the  inscription  on  the  seat, 
she  had  turned  her  profile  toward  him,  and  so  remained  when  her 
glance  wandered  away.  In  the  strong  light  that  fell  on  her,  he 
noted  every  detail  of  her  appearance — the  purple  violets  from  San 
Gregorio  hanging  in  the  front  of  her  black  dress,  the  long  crape 
veil  swept  backward,  one  delicate  ungloved  hand,  the  distinc- 
tion and  grace  that  pervaded  her  appearance  like  a  perfume.  So 
entire  was  her  unconsciousness  of  his  presence,  that  as  he  drew 
nearer  he  first  hesitated,  then  paused.  It  seemed  impossible  to 
startle  her  by  his  appearance  ;  yet  to  stand  still  and  stare  at  her 
was  equally  impossible,  since  she  might  at  any  moment  become 
aware  of  what  could  only  appear  extreme  rudeness.  He  turned, 
therefore,  to  examine  one  of  the  fragments  of  ancient  marble ; 
and,  as  he  did  so,  steps  approached  on  the  terrace,  and  a  voice 
spoke  in  English  : 

"I  see,"  said  Erne,  "  that  you  have  discovered  the  best  point 
for  the  view — and  St.  Philip  Neri  discovered  it  before  you,  as  no 
doubt  you  have  observed.  The  most  effective  approach  to  the 
terrace  is  by  that  ilex  avenue ;  but  I  brought  you  another  way 
because  I  wanted  to  keep  that  for  our  return.  Shall  we  enter  it 
now?" 

" No,"  answered  IrSne  quickly,  before  Mrs.  Vance  could  utter 
the  assent  which  trembled  on  her  tongue.  "  Let  us  go  on  to  the 
end  of  the  terrace  and  return  here.  One  can  not  have  too  much  of 
this  beautiful  view." 

"  It  is  almost  unsurpassed,"  said  the  young  man,  pausing  at  her 
side.  "Rome  abounds  in  magnificent  views,  as  we  know,  but 
there  is  none  finer  than  this.  I  have  come  here  often  during  the 
winter  for  atmospheric  effects — they  have  been  inexpressible. 
And  I  like  the  foreground — this  great  bastion  built  on  the  ancient 
wall  of  Servius  Tullius,  those  ruins  which  in  massive  strength  and 


HEART  OP  STEEL.  181 

beauty  so  far  surpass  our  most  finished  achievements ;  the  fact  that 
yonder  is  the  site  of  the  Porta  Capena ;  and  there  the  Fountain 
of  Egeria.  I  have  almost  dreamed  sometimes  that  I  saw  Numa 
Pompilius  himself." 

"And  the  nymph?"  she  asked,  smiling. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  as  he  looked  at  her.  "  I  see  the  nymph 
for  the  first  time  to-day." 

"  And,  like  a  true  nymph,  I  suppose  she  is  only  visihle  to  you," 
said  the  young  lady,  quietly.  "  I  should  like  to  see  her — should 
not  you,  Mrs.  Vance?  But  let  us  go  on:  I  am  afraid  that  you 
are  anxious  to  get  back  to  the  carriage." 

"Not  anxious,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Vance,  who  with  eye-glass 
lifted  had  been  trying  to  take  in  the  Porta  Capena  and  the  Fount- 
ain of  Egeria.  "  But  I  think  it  would  be  well  for  us  to  return  as 
soon  as  you  are  ready.  It  seems  to  me  that  it  grows  a  little 
chilly." 

"It  seems  to  me  like  a  day  from  paradise,"  said  Ir6ne,  look- 
ing from  the  fair,  outspread  earth  to  the  gracious,  bending  sky. 

They  passed  on  as  she  spoke,  and  the  next  moment  a  man 
stepped  forth  from  the  ilex  shade,  and  stood  in  turn  on  the  terrace. 
The  majesty  of  the  great  plain,  the  soft  beauty  of  the  distant 
heights,  and  the  tender  glory  of  the  sky,  certainly  did  not  appeal- 
to  him  in  vain.  From  the  expression  of  his  face,  it  was  evident  that 
there  was  no  influence  of  nature  or  memory  of  history  to  which 
he  did  not  respond.  But  presently  his  gaze  returned  from  a  wide 
sweep  over  the  scene,  to  the  Fountain  of  Egeria,  and  his  lips 
stirred  into  a  slight  smile — evoked  by  the  recollection  of  Erne's 
words.  Yet,  when  his  glance  fell  a  minute  later  on  a  few  fresh 
violets  lying  at  his  feet,  it  seemed  an  unconscious  impulse  with 
him  to  stoop  and  pick  them  np. 


CHAPTEE  II. 

MRS.  FALOOXER'S  apartments  were  scarcely  less  luxurious  and 
certainly  not  less  agreeable  in  Rome  than  in  Paris.  The  house, 
of  which  she  had  the  first  floor,  was  situated  near  the  head  of  the 
Trinita  de'  Monti  steps,  and  commanded  a  beautiful  outlook  over 


182  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

the  city  with  its  multitude  of  roofs  and  spires,  dominated  by  the 
great  dome  of  St.  Peter's.  This  view  had  been  a  source  of  extreme 
pleasure  to  Irene  all  winter,  and  she  had  often  declined  to  go  to 
drive  in  the  afternoon,  preferring  to  establish  herself  in  a  window, 
and  watch  the  sun  set  behind  that  majestic  dome,  "  la  seule  dcs 
csuvres  d'hommes  qui  ait  quelque  chose  de  la  grandeur  des  asmrcs 
de  Dieu" 

That  Mrs.  Falconer  had  gathered  round  her  in  Rome,  as  in 
Paris,  a  brilliant  circle  of  acquaintances,  was  not  remarkable.  A 
woman  who  is  lovely,  wealthy,  clever,  and  unexceptionally  intro- 
duced, can  generally  accomplish  whatever  she  desires  in  a  social 
point  of  view,  and  "people  worth  knowing"  are  perhaps  to  be 
found  in  greater  numbers  in  Rome  than  anywhere  else  in  the 
world.  Her  salon  was  soon  filled  with  a  throng  as  cosmopolitan 
as  her  heart  could  desire — Italians,  with  that  grave  and  noble 
dignity  which  still  sits  upon  the  true  Roman ;  Englishmen  of  the 
best  class,  intellectually  as  well  as  socially ;  Parisians  who  had  torn 
themselves  for  a  brief  space  from  their  Boulevards ;  Americans 
who  had  a  claim  upon  her  friendship ;  artists,  musicians,  men  of 
letters.  Those  who  were  privileged  to  enter  it  declared  that  there 
was  no  drawing-room  in  Rome  that  season  to  compare  with  Mrs. 
Falconer's  in  attraction.  And  besides  the  charm  of  the  hostess, 
and  the  exceptional  nature  of  the  company,  there  were  whispers 
of  a  remarkable  beauty,  and  a  still  more  remarkable  voice,  to  be 
seen  and  heard  now  and  then.  Though  not  going  into  society, 
Irene  was  always  willing  to  appear  when  Mrs.  Falconer  had  only 
a  few  friends,  and  to  sing  for  them.  "It  is  nothing  to  me,  and 
gives  others  pleasure,"  she  always  simply  said.  It  certainly  gave 
others  pleasure ;  and  naturally  they  talked  of  it.  "  It  is  a  won- 
derful voice,"  one  or  two  musical  critics  of  high  authority  pro- 
nounced. "  If  she  went  on  the  stage  she  would  make  a  diva  of 
the  first  rank."  These  opinions,  with  the  air  of  mystery  thrown 
about  the  young  singer,  her  seclusion,  her  deep  mourning,  her 
striking  beauty,  all  tended  to  excite  curiosity  and  arouse  interest. 

Erne  was  among  the  first  to  hear  of  this.  Such  a  face  could 
not  escape  the  notice  of  artists,  and  when  one  of  their  own  guild 
was  seen  in  attendance  on  it,  he  was  speedily  forced  to  run  a 
gantlet  of  questions.  Very  little  was  to  be  extracted  from  him, 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  183 

however,  beyond  the  facts  that  Miss  Lescar  was  a  young  lady 
under  the  care  of  Mrs.  Falconer,  that  she  had  not  yet  been  intro- 
duced into  society,  and  that  her  voice  was  not  intended  for  the 
stage.  On  the  latter  point  he  was  more  emphatic  than  his  knowl- 
edge warranted,  for  he  really  knew  nothing  of  Irene's  intentions ; 
bnt  all  his  feeling  rose  up  in  arms  against  the  suggestion.  It 
seemed  to  him  little  short  of  sacrilege,  for  the  half-fanciful  hom- 
age with  which  her  beauty  first  inspired  him  had  deepened  from 
knowledge  and  association  into  a  passion  of  which  he  had  not 
yet  asked  himself  the  probable  end.  It  was  enough  for  him  at 
present  to  see  her  constantly  and  familiarly,  as  no  other  man  saw 
her ;  to  be  her  companion  and  guide  through  galleries  filled  with 
shapes  of  classic  beauty  and  harmonies  of  glowing  color,  through 
spacious  gardens  with  fountains  flashing  and  statues  standing  out 
against  the  deep  green  of  box  and  ilex  or  the  far  horizon  of  blue 
hills,  through  the  solemn  majesty  of  churches  rich  with  the 
wealth  and  beauty  of  the  ages  of  faith,  or  through  ancient  ruins 
incrusted  with  poetry  and  history,  with  the  passion  and  the  pa- 
thos of  past  life.  Certainly  they  were  ideal  scenes  in  which  to 
wander  with  a  companion  whose  nature,  like  the  sensitive  strings 
of  a  violin,  answered  to  every  touch,  whether  that  touch  came 
through  religion,  nature,  art,  or  history — and  it  was  no  wonder 
that  fancy  should  have  deepened  to  passion  under  such  influences. 
It  was  a  result  naturally  to  be  expected,  Mrs.  Falconer  after- 
ward confessed ;  but  at  the  time  she  was  singularly  unconscious 
of  it.  Erne  had  so  easily  fallen  into  his  place,  and  it  was  so 
pleasant  to  have  the  agreeable,  cultivated  young  fellow  always 
at  hand —  "  for  men  have  their  uses,"  she  acknowledged  with  an 
air  of  candor — that  she  overlooked  the  danger  to  his  peace  of 
mind.  Perhaps  she  was  incredulous  of  the  possibility  of  such  a 
danger.  Worshipers  at  many  shrines  are  liable  to  have  the  depth 
as  well  as  the  permanence  of  their  devotion  doubted.  That  he 
was  for  the  present  enthralled  by  Irene's  charm,  she  knew ;  but 
it  did  not  seem  to  her  a  matter  for  serious  consideration.  The 
girl  herself  was  as  little  affected  thereby  as  one  of  the  marble 
statues  of  the  Vatican;  and,  this  being  the  case,  Mrs.  Falconer 
felt  thoroughly  at  ease,  and  failed  to  see  any  reason  why  the 
association  should  be  restricted. 


18J-  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

That  such  a  reason  existed,  however,  was  at  length  made 
clear  to  her  by  one  of  the  friends  who  are  always  ready  to  point 
out  their  neighbors'  mistakes  to  them.  This  friend  was  an  Eng- 
lish lady  with  whom  she  was  driving  on  the  same  afternoon  that 
Irene  and  Erne  were  looking  over  the  Campagna  from  the  terraco 
of  the  Villa  Mattei.  There  had  been  a  brilliant  breakfast-party 
earlier  in  the  day,  at  a  villa  just  without  the  walls  of  Eome,  and, 
after  their  return  from  this,  the  two  ladies  were  making  the  usual 
round  on  the  Pincian.  Discussing  the  beauty  of  a  young  Kussian 
princess  whom  they  had  met,  Lady  Dorchester  said : 

"  She  is  very  lovely,  but  not  to  compare  to  your  young  pro- 
tegee. I  mention  her  because  they  have  both  the  same  indescrib- 
able air  of  refinement  and  high  breeding.  And,  by-the-by,  my 
dear,  it  has  been  on  my  mind  for  some  time  to  tell  you  that 
Miss  Lescar  is  really  seen  too  much  with  that  clever  young  Mr. 
Erne.  You  know  Eome  is  a  sad  place  for  gossip — I  suppose 
because  we  have  all  nothing  else  to  do — and  his  attendance  on 
her  must  be  remarked  all  the  more  because  she  is  not  in  society 
yet." 

"  But  for  that  reason  I  thought  it  would  not  be  remarked," 
said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  Ir&ne  knows  so  few  people,  and  Lionel  is 
my  cousin,  and  like  a  brother  to  me — so  their  association  has 
seemed  very  natural.  Either  my  aunt  or  myself  have  always 
made  one  of  the  party." 

"  Exactly,"  said  the  other,  smiling.  "  But  whether  your  aunt 
or  yourself  plays  chaperon,  Mr.  Erne  always  appears  in  conjunc- 
tion with  Miss  Lescar.  I  don't  wonder  at  all— she  is  certainly 
an  exquisite  creature — but  unless  they  me  fiance,  it  is  a  misfortune 
for  a  girl  to  be  so  publicly  and  constantly  seen  with  one  man." 

"  There  is  nothing  of  the  kind  between  them — nothing,"  said 
Mrs.  Falconer,  in  a  tone  of  vexation.  "  It  never  occurred  to  me 
that  any  one  would  think  so." 

"N"o  one  would  have  thought  so — the  matter  would  never 
have  been  noticed  at  all  but  for  her  striking  beauty,"  said  Lady 
Dorchester.  "  Even  if  she  were  nobody,  that  face  would  attract 
attention,  and  since  it  is  known  that  she  is  with  you —  But,  pray, 
don't  fancy,  my  dear,  that  I  am  blaming  you.  I  understand  the 
young  man's  position,  and  how  it  is  that  he  is  admitted  to  such 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  185 

familiarity.  I  only  thought  it  well  to  call  your  attention  to  the 
fact  that  other  people  do  not  understand  the  circumstances  of  the 
case." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  I  deserve  hlame,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  after 
a  moment's  pause.  "I  have,  at  least,  been  absurdly  blind.  I 
have  not  considered  how  the  matter  must  look  to  outsiders. 
Thank  you,  dear  Lady  Dorchester,  for  telling  me." 

"  I  fancy  the  young  people  will  not  thank  me,"  said  Lady 
Dorchester,  with  a  smile. 

"  Lionel  may  not,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  "  but  Irene  is  thorough- 
ly indifferent.  If  I  had  not  been  sure  of  that,  I  should  not  have 
permitted  the  association  as  I  have  done." 

Lady  Dorchester  murmured  something  to  the  effect  that  peo- 
ple could  never  be  altogether  sure  of  matters  of  the  kind. 

"I  am  perfectly  sure  of  this,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  Irene  is 
not  in  the  least  like  ordinary  girls." 

"  Cela  na  sans  dire"  said  the  other.  "  But  I  believe  that 
even  Sappho  is  supposed  to  have  fallen  in  love." 

"This  Sappho  will  not  fall  in  love  with  poor  Lionel,"  said 
Mrs.  Falconer,  smiling ;  "  but  there  is  a  sympathy  between  them 
which  has  set  up  a  certain  camaraderie  that  I  fear  I  shall  find  it 
difficult  to  break,  without  making  too  much  of  the  affair — which 
it  is  undesirable  to  do,  you  know." 

"There  is  one  simple  way  of  accomplishing  it,"  said  Lady 
Dorchester.  "  Take  Miss  Lescar  into  society,  and  there  will  soon 
be  plenty  of  men  to  contest  Mr.  Erne's  place  with  him.  I  know 
half  a  dozen  who  are  wild  about  her  now." 

"  But  she  is  in  mourning — her  mother  died  last  October." 

"That  is  no  reason  for  maintaining  absolute  seclusion.  Of 
course,  you  would  not  take  her  to  balls,  but  she  might  appear  at 
your  receptions,  and  go  out  quietly.  Bring  her  to  me  on  Wednes- 
day evening." 

"  My  dear  Lady  Dorchester,  I  am  afraid  she  will  never  con- 
sent." 

"  Try,  at  all  events.  I  assure  you  that,  unless  you  wish  the 
matter  to  become  serious,  it  is  your  only  chance.  You  under- 
rate your  cousin's  fascinations.  I  think  that  even  Sappho  might 
yield  to  them,  if  she  saw  nobody  else." 


186  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

The  carriage  at  that  moment  stopped  before  Mrs.  Falconer's 
portone ;  so  these  words  were  virtually  the  last  of  the  conversa- 
tion. Lady  Dorchester  drove  away  with  the  agreeable  sense  of 
a  duty  discharged  and  an  attraction  probably  secured  for  her  next 
reception ;  while  Mrs.  Falconer  mounted  the  staircase  to  be  in- 
formed by  Antonio — the  Italian  servant  who  opened  the  door  of 
her  apartment — that  the  signora  and  signorina  had  gone  out 
early  to  San  Gregorio,  and  that  the  Signor  Erne  had  come  later, 
had  inquired  where  they  were  gone,  and  had  followed  them. 

There  was  certainly  nothing  unusual  nor  even  reprehensible 
in  this;  but  with  Lady  Dorchester's  words  still  ringing  in  her 
ears,  Mrs.  Falconer  felt  a  sense  of  irritation.  "Lionel  really 
ought  to  consider ! "  she  found  herself  thinking,  as  she  went 
to  her  chamber.  But  by  the  time  she  had  laid  aside  her  wraps 
and  changed  her  dress,  the  sense  of  irritation  had  given  way 
to  amusement  at  the  thought  of  expecting  Lionel  to  consider. 
"That  is  for  me  to  do,"  she  said  to  herself. 

She  had  time  enough  for  reflection  before  the  trio  returned. 
And  there  were  several  points  upon  which  to  reflect.  In  the  first 
place,  did  she  "wish  the  matter  to  become  serious"?  Almost 
without  hesitation,  she  replied  in  the  negative — her  knowledge 
having  greatly  increased  since  the  time  she  had  conceived  snch  a 
plan  in  Paris.  She  knew  now  that  the  cleverness  which  Erne 
possessed  was  like  the  flicker  of  a  taper  beside  the  electric  flash 
of  genius  in  Irene,  and  that  there  could  be  no  prospect  of  happi- 
ness where  so  great  a  disparity  existed.  "  Of  course  he  is  des- 
perately in  love,  poor  fellow ! — that  is  only  natural,"  she  thought. 
"  But  I  can  not  believe  that  there  is  any  danger  for  her.  The 
only  ground  for  it  that  could  possibly  exist  is  the  fact  of  her  being 
so  closely  thrown  with  him.  Some  people  think  that  love  is  alto- 
gether a  matter  of  propinquity.  It  is  certainly  so  in  great  measure, 
and  I  may  have  been  wrong  in  permitting  the  propinquity  in  this 
case.  What  would  Mr.  Stanhope  say?  I  am  afraid  he  would 
believe  that  I  have  betrayed  my  trust,  and  attempted  the  match- 
making which  he  condemned.  The  more  I  think  of  it  the  more 
I  see  that  Lady  Dorchester  is  right.  I  must  end  the  constant 
association— and,  in  order  to  do  so,  I  must  introduce  Irene  into 
society.  I  hardly  like  to  take  the  responsibility  of  the  step  with- 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  187 

out  consulting  Mr.  Stanhope— but,  since  he  chooses  to  remain 
away,  I  am  obliged  to  act  as  I  believe  to  be  best.  I  can  not  wait 
to  hear  the  opinion  of  a  man  in  Africa." 

The  man  in  Africa  would  probably  have  smiled  had  he  heard 
the  tone  in  which  this  was  uttered — for  Mrs.  Falconer  uncon- 
sciously spoke  the  last  words  aloud.  The  sound  of  her  own  voice 
startled  her  in  the  large,  silent  room,  and  she  said  nothing  more, 
but,  leaning  back  in  her  chair,  watched  the  firelight  shining  on 
the  rich  silk  hangings,  the  pictures  and  bric-d-brac  which  trans- 
formed an  ordinary  Roman  apartment  into  a  drawing  room  of 
distinctive  taste  and  luxury.  This  radiance  brightened  as  the 
sunset  glow  burned  slowly  out  and  twilight  gathered  in  the  far- 
ther end  of  the  room.  Presently  voices  were  heard,  then  the 
door  opened  and  a  slender  black-clad  figure  crossed  the  floor  into 
the  circle  of  flickering  light. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Falconer,  I  hope  you  have  had  a  pleasant  day," 
said  Irene,  bending  down  to  touch  a  soft,  flushed  cheek  with  cool, 
fresh  lips.  "  We  have  seen  a  great  many  beautiful  things  this 
afternoon,  and  I  have  brought  you  some  violets  from  the  garden 
of  Santa  Silvia." 

"  They  are  very  fragrant,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  putting  up  her 
hand  to  take  the  violets. — "Ah,  Lionel,  is  that  you?  Antonio 
told  me  that  you  followed  the  signora  and  signorina." 

"  Yes,  and  met  them  luckily  on  the  steps  of  San  Gregorio," 
said  Erne,  with  the  air  of  one  whose  conscience  was  wholly  at 
rest.  "  I  wanted  them  to  see  the  view  from  the  Villa  Mattei 
while  they  were  in  that  neighborhood." 

"It  was  glorious!"  said  Irene,  in  a  voice  like  a  chord  of 
music.  "  I  think  I  like  it  better  than  any  other  view  of  the  Cam- 
pagna.  And  then  we  went  to  drive." 

"I  did  not  see  you  on  the  Pincio,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer. 

" No ;  we  drove  out  over  the  Campagna." 

A  few  more  "words  were  exchanged,  when  Irene  left  the  room 
to  lay  aside  her  wraps,  and  then  Mrs.  Falconer  said  to  her  cousin  : 

"Don't  go,  Lionel.  I  have  something  to  say  to  you.  Sit 
down  there  " — she  pointed  to  a  chair  opposite  her  own—"  I  want 
you  to  tell  me  how  much  your  knowledge  of  art  has  improved  in 
Rome  this  winter." 


188  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

It  scarcely  needed  the  expression  of  her  eyes  and  tone  to  con- 
vey her  meaning.  The  question  in  itself  was  sufficiently  signifi- 
cant, and  she  saw  that  the  young  man  flushed  as  he  replied : 

"I  hope  that  my  knowledge  has  improved  considerably, 
though  my  achievement  has  certainly  not  heen  great." 

"Then,  my  dear  Lionel,  don't  you  think  that  it  would  be  well 
to  devote  a  little  more  time  to  achievement? "  she  asked. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  he,  with  the  flush  still  on  his  face,  "  that 
you  mean  I  am  here  too  much." 

"No,"  she  answered,  "I  do  not  mean  that  you  are  here  too 
much — for  you  know  that  you  are  always  welcome.  But  I  do 
mean  that  you  are  with  Irene  too  much." 

"And  what  then?  "  asked  he.  "  Have  I  broken  my  word  to 
you?  Have  I  said  a  word  to  her  that  you — that  the  whole  world 
—might  not  hear  ? " 

"I  have  no  reason  to  believe  that  you  have,"  she  answered. 
"  But  you — and  I  too,  for  that  matter — have  forgotten  that  your 
constant  attendance  on  her  must  be  observed  and  remarked,  and 
that  it  is  not  well  for  any  girl  to  be  compromised  by  such  atten- 
tions." 

"Oh,"  said  he,  sarcastically,  "you  have  become  the  mouth- 
piece of  Mrs.  Grnndy ;  you  are  thinking  of  the  absurd  figments  of 
propriety." 

"  I  am  most  certainly  thinking  of  them,"  she  replied,  more 
severely  than  she  had  spoken  before,  "  and,  whatever  you  may 
think  of  them,  I  do  not  intend  that  they  shall  be  violated  with 
regard  to  any  one  under  my  care.  I  repeat  that  you  have  been 
seen  in  public  too  much  with  Irene,  and  that  your  attendance  so 
frequently  must  cease." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  and  the  heart  of  Mrs.  Grun- 
dy's  mouth-piece  melting  within  her  as  she  saw  the  downcast 
look  on  the  handsome  young  face,  she  was  about  to  soften  the 
severity  of  her  words,  when  Erne  spoke : 

"Of  course  I  must  bow  to  your  decision,  though  I  am  sorry — 
very  sorry — for  it  will  end  the  greatest  pleasure  that  I  have  ever 
enjoyed  in  my  life.  However,  that  is  all  that  society,  as  at  pres- 
ent constituted,  seems  to  exist  for — to  end  pleasure  rather  than 
to  create  it.'' 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  189 

"  I  beg  that  you  will  not  talk  such  nonsense,"  said  his  cousin, 
coldly.  "There  is  not  a  single  law  of  society  which  does  not  rest 
upon  a  basis  of  common  sense.  The  world  is  not  Arcadia. 
Whether  warranted  or  unwarranted,  people  will  draw  conclu- 
sions from  what  they  see." 

"  And  what  conclusion  could  justly  be  drawn  in  this  case,  save 
the  true  one — that  Miss  Lescar  is  the  one  woman  in  the  world  to 
me  ?  My  infatuation  has  reached  such  a  point  that  I  would  as 
soon  proclaim  it  from  the  house-tops  as  not." 

"  But  you  are  not  the  only  person  concerned,"  said  she,  gently. 
"It  may  not  matter  what  is  said  of  you,  but  you  will  agree  with 
me  that  Irene  should  be  shielded  from  the  possibility  of  the  sort 
of  comment  which  only  injures  a  girl." 

"But  she  knows  no  one — she  is  not  in  society;  how,  then,  in 
the  name  of  Heaven,  can  the  fact  that  I  accompany  her  to  a  few 
galleries  and  churches  and  ruins  excite  comment?  I  thought 
that  the  presence  of  a  chaperon  was  enough  to  propitiate  Mrs. 
Grundy." 

Mrs.  Falconer  did  not  acknowledge  how  nearly  this  had  been 
her  own  opinion;  she  only  said:  "There  is  no  good  in  discussing 
the  matter.  It  has  excited  comment — aud  therefore  it  must  end. 
You  see  we  are  not  mere  wandering  tourists ;  and  Anglo-Eoman 
society  is  not  so  large  that  a  girl  so  striking  as  Irene  can  re- 
main unobserved.  Indeed,  she  has  been  so  much  observed  that 
I  feel  it  necessary  to  introduce  her  into  society — quietly,  of 
course." 

"  In  other  words,"  said  Erne,  rising  to  his  feet  and  standing 
by  the  mantel  straight  and  tall,  "  you  mean  that  our  pleasant  in- 
tercourse of  the  last  three  months  is  to  end." 

"  To  end — no :  to  be  restricted — yes,"  she  answered.  "  You 
must  remember  that  I  have  several  tilings  to  consider.  I  must 
think  of  Irene  herself.  It  is  not  just  to  her  to  throw  her  so  con- 
stantly, so  wholly  with  you." 

"  You  may  spare  yourself  any  anxiety  on  that  score,"  he  said. 
"  She  has  never  given  me  a  thought.  The  wildest  vanity  could 
not  misinterpret  her  manner.  Nor  have  I  ever  tried  to  draw  a 
look  or  word  of  interest  from  her.  I  have  scrupulously  kept  my 
promise  given  to  you  in  Paris." 


190  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it,"  she  said,  "  and  I  am  sure  I  have  trusted 
you  unreservedly." 

"  Why,  then,  begin  to  distrust  me  now?  " 

"  Have  I  expressed  the  least  distrust  ?  Pray  be  reasonable ; 
pray  think  a  little  of  my  responsibility  !  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I 
ought  to  consider  you  as  well  as  Irene;  for,  by  your  own  ac- 
count, you  are  simply  encouraging  a  hopeless  passion." 

He  made  a  gesture  signifying  that  that  was  a  matter  of  no  im- 
portance. "  You  need  not  consider  me,"  he  said.  "  I  am  willing 
to  take  all  risks.  And  I  warn  you  that,  if  you  end  our  association 
and  take  her  into  society,  I  shall  not  hold  myself  any  longer  bound 
by  my  promise  to  you.  Other  men  will  then  meet  her  without 
such  restriction,  and  I  must  do  so  too." 

"Very  well,"  said  his  cousin.  "Then  you  must  only  expect 
such  opportunities  as  are  afforded  to  other  men.  I  can  not  trust 
an  avowed  enemy  as  if  he  were  a  friend." 

"But  why  consider  me  as  an  enemy?  "  asked  he,  and  uncon- 
sciously, as  it  seemed,  he  drew  a  step  nearer  to  her.  "  What  ob- 
jection could  you  have  if  the  impossible  were  to  come  to  pass — 
if  I  could  win  her  to  look  kindly  on  me? " 

"My  dear  Lionel,"  she  answered,  touched — as  what  woman 
would  not  have  been  ? — by  this  sudden  appeal,  "  what  objection, 
indeed,  could  I  have?  But  I  have  no  voice  in  the  matter.  Irene, 
yon  know,  is  simply  intrusted  to  me  by  her  guardian — " 

"  Ah ! "  said  he,  throwing  back  his  head  and  shoulders  ab- 
ruptly. "  And  he  would  not  approve !  But  that  has  no  weight 
with  me.  I  hold  his  opinion  at  less  than  a  farthing's  value,  and  I 
would  tell  him  so  without  hesitation.  For,  why  should  he  ob- 
ject, unless — and  that  I  have  suspected  for  some  time — he  wishes 
to  marry  her  himself  ?  " 

"  Lionel,  you  must  know  that  is  absurd  !  " 

"Absurd,  is  it?"  said  the  young  man.  "I  fail  to  see  why. 
You  must  know  that  Mr.  Stanhope's  age  makes  his  guard- 
ianship ridiculous.  Why,  then,  should  Madame  Lescar  have 
given  him  the  charge,  or  he  accepted  it,  but  for  such  an 
end  ? " 

"  So,  having  nobody  else  to  be  jealous  of,  you  have  absolutely 
transformed  Mr.  Stanhope  into  a  rival !  "  said  she.  "  If  your  sus- 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  191 

picions  are  correct,  why  should  there  be  any  mystery  ?— why 
should  he  be  in  Algiers  and  not  here  ?  " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  How  can  I  tell  ?  But  time 
will  show  whether  or  not  my  suspicions,  as  you  call  them,  are 
correct.  Meanwhile,  I  give  you  fair  warning  that,  if  there  is  a 
chance  for  me,  I  shall  spare  no  effort  to  take  it." 

"And  I  shall  govern  myself  accordingly,"  said  she,  smiling. 
"Now  we  may  consider  everything  said  that  need  be  said. 
Will  you  stay  to  dinner  ? — or  is  it  war  to  the  knife  ?  " 

"I  thought  you  probably  intended  to  forbid  me  the  house," 
said  he,  smiling  also. 

" Not  at  all,"  she  replied.  "You  are  much  too  useful  as  well 
as  too  agreeable.  I  only  desire  you  not  to  join  Irene  and  Aunt 
Marion  again.  When  I  think  it  well  for  you  to  accompany  us  on 
any  of  our  expeditions,  I  will  ask  you  myself." 


CHAPTER  III. 

THEEE  is  not  a  more  charming  spot  in  the  "world  than  the 
Pincian  Hill  on  a  bright  winter,  or,  better  still,  a  soft  spring 
afternoon.  There  are  many  more  extensive  promenades  in  Eu- 
rope, but  where  is  there  one  which  from  a  height  so  noble  over- 
looks a  scene  so  fair?  Who  that  has  ever  stood  on  that  outlying 
terrace,  with  its  massive  balustrade  of  stone,  can  forget  the  pict- 
ure spread  before  the  gaze — the  soft-toned  city,  with  her  pal- 
aces, cupolas,  and  towers  lying  below  ;  the  noble  outlines  of  that 
dome  which  Michael  Angelo  lifted  high  in  air;  the  majestic  angel 
sheathing  his  sword  on  the  castle  which  was  once  the  tomb  of 
Hadrian ;  the  Campagna  stretching  afar  to  meet  the  silver  line  of 
the  sea;  the  frame  of  purple  hills  that  in  all  other  directions 
bounds  the  wide  expanse  ?  It  is  a  picture  which  imprints  itself 
not  only  on  the  memory  but  on  the  heart,  and  remains  there 
through  all  lapse  of  time,  all  change  of  seasons. 

And  on  such  afternoons  it  is  a  bright  scene  which  the  prome- 
nade itself  displays.  A  stream  of  carriages  fills  its  broad  road- 
way, and  among  the  throng  of  pedestrians  there  are  many  pictur- 
esque contrasts  of  dress  and  appearance.  For,  though  deprived, 


192  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

for  the  present,  of  her  distinctive  character — degraded,  as  far  as 
possible,  from  her  proud  position  as  the  capital  of  Christendom 
to  the  capital  of  a  kingdom  founded  on  force  and  fraud — Eome  is 
still  unlike  any  other  city  of  the  world,  for  thither  still  come  the 
pilgrims  of  all  nations  and  all  tribes  to  lay  their  offerings  at  the 
feet  of  Christ's  Vicar,  to  pay  to  the  royal  prisoner  of  the  Vatican 
such  homage  of  love  and  fealty  as  no  other  sovereign  on  earth 
can  command.  And  on  the  Pincian  Hill  these  mingle  with  eager 
sight-seeing  tourists,  with  the  fashionable  foreign  element  which 
follows  its  narrow  social  orbit  in  complacent  self-satisfaction  here 
as  elsewhere,  with  artists,  scholars,  poets  drawn  from  all  parts  of 
the  earth  by  the  charm  of  this  Eternal  City,  with  quiet  priests 
and  grave  prelates,  with  students  from  the  great  religious  col- 
leges, whose  robes  make  a  gleam  of  bright  color  as  they  file 
around  the  winding  road. 

The  band  was  playing,  the  sunshine  streaming,  the  crowd  at 
its  greatest,  when  Lady  Dorchester's  carriage  drew  up  in  front  of 
the  Piazzale  on  the  afternoon  following  her  conversation  with  Mrs. 
Falconer.  Leaning  back  under  the  shade  of  a  heavily  fringed 
parasol,  her  eyes  passed  over  the  faces  near  her,  and  presently 
fell  on  a  young,  distinguished-looking  man,  to  whom  she  bowed 
and  then  held  out  her  hand  as  he  approached  the  carriage. 

"  I  am  delighted  to  see  you  back  in  Eome,  my  dear  count," 
she  said.  "  When  did  you  return  ?  " 

"Only  within  a  few  days  past,"  answered  the  gentleman,  who 
spoke  English  perfectly,  but  with  a  slight  accent  which  betrayed 
that  it  was  not  his  native  tongue.  "  My  uncle's  illness  detained 
me  longer  than  I  expected." 

"  It  must  have  been  a  very  severe  illness.  I  am  glad  to  see 
favorable  accounts  of  his  recovery." 

"  More  favorable  than  exact,  I  fear.  Though  he  has  a  strong 
constitution,  this  attack  has  shaken  it,  and  he  does  not  regain 
strength  rapidly.  His  physicians  are  urging  him  to  go  to  Nice  or 
Cannes  for  a  month  or  two." 

"  And  he  will  do  so,  of  course  ?  " 

"  Not  if  he  can  possibly  avoid  it.  He  is  anxious  to  resume  his 
public  duties ;  but  I  think  he  will  find  himself  obliged  to  yield  to 
advice." 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  193 

"  It  is  always  best  in  the  end,  I  am  sure,  though  no  doubt  it  is 
hard  for  Prince  Waldegrave  to  believe  so.  At  all  events  I  am 
glad  that  he  is  better,  and  glad  to  see  you  back  among  us,  though 
you  hardly  deserve  that  I  should  say  so." 

"  "Why  do  I  not  deserve  it  ? "  asked  he,  smiling.  "  What  have 
I  done?" 

"What  have  you  not  left  undone — in  a  social  way?  Yet 
society  is  very  agreeable  in  Eome  this  winter." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it,  and  I  shall  begin  at  once  to  atone  for  my 
misdemeanors  as  far  as  may  be.  In  consideration  of  such  good 
intentions,  will  you — who  know  everybody  worth  knowing — tell 
me  who  is  the  beautiful  girl  in  the  carriage  just  beyond  you  ?  " 

Lady  Dorchester  looked  around,  bowed,  and  turned  back, 
smiling  as  she  did  so. 

"  That  beautiful  girl,"  she  said,  "  is  just  now  the  most  admired 
person  in  Rome.  Have  you  ever  seen  more  perfect  blending  of 
lines  and  tints  with  spiritual  expression?  It  is  the  head  ot  a 
Muse.  Artists  and  sculptors  are  raving  over  her." 

"  I  do  not  wonder  at  that,"  said  the  young  Count.  "  It  is  a 
singularly  rare  and  noble  type  of  beauty.  But  you  have  not  yet 
told  me  who  she  is." 

"An  American.  Nay — don't  look  so  disappointed!  There 
are  Americans  and  Americans.  For  example,  the  lady  by  whom 
this  beauty  is  sitting,  and  whom  you  have  not  noticed,  though  she 
well  deserves  notice,  is  English  by  marriage  but  American  in 
everything  else,  and  there  is  not  a  more  charming  woman  in 
Home.  She  is  young,  she  has  the  delicate  loveliness  of  her  coun- 
try, she  is  femme  cPesprit,  and  immensely  wealthy — can  you 
imagine  a  more  delightful  combination  ? " 

"  It  would  be  difficult  to  do  so ;  yet  I  have  a  prejudice — "  He 
paused,  perhaps  because  his  eye  fell  again  on  the  face  in  the  car- 
riage beyond.  "  What  is  her  name  ? ''  he  asked,  abruptly. 

"  Mrs.  Falconer,"  answered  Lady  Dorchester.  "  Oh !  you  mean 
the  Muse-like  beauty?  She  is  Miss  Lescar ;  very  young,  and  in 
mourning,  as  you  pei'ceive ;  so  she  has  not  appeared  in  society 
at  all.  But  Mrs.  Falconer  has  half  promised  to  bring  her  to  my 
reception  on  Wednesday  evening,  and,  if  you  come,  I  will  intro- 
duce you." 

9 


194:  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"You  are  very  kind.  If  I  do  not  claim  your  promise,  it  will 
only  be  because  introductions  are  sometimes  mistakes.  That  is 
such  an  ideal  face — it  is  not  likely  that  what  it  leads  one  to  ex- 
pect will  be  fulfilled." 

"  That  depends,  of  course,  upon  what  you  expect,"  said  Lady 
Dorchester,  "/have  found  that  Miss  Lescar  corresponds  very 
well  with  her  face.  I  do  not  believe  that  Nature  ever  misleads 
one  who  knows  how  to  read  her  signs,  and  such  a  countenance 
as  that  is  like  the  portico  of  a  beautiful  temple." 

"  The  temple  should  be  very  beautiful  indeed,  if  it  is  in  har- 
mony with  the  portico,"  said  he,  smiling.  "  I  think,  after  that 
comparison,  I  must  enter  and  judge  for  myself." 

"  And  I  promise  that  you  will  not  regret  it,"  she  replied. 

It  occurred  to  Count  Waldegrave,  after  the  speaker  had  driven 
away,  that  such  promises  are  rash,  though  he  had  no  foreboding 
of  how  rash  this  promise  was  to  prove.  The  face  that  he  had 
first  seen  on  the  terrace  of  the  Villa  Mattel  had  disappeared ;  so 
its  charm  could  not  counteract  his  reluctance  to  exchange  an  ideal 
for  a  reality  which,  ho  felt  sure,  would  suffer  by  the  contrast.  He 
began  to  wish  that  he  had  made  no  inquiry  with  regard  to  the 
poetic  beauty.  To  be  promised  an  introduction  to  an  American 
girl  was  certainly  the  last  object  he  had  in  view  in  doing  so. 

From  which  it  will  be  perceived  that,  like  most  people  of 
strong  character,  he  was  prejudiced,  as  he  had  acknowledged  to 
Lady  Dorchester.  Conservative  in  politics  and  an  intense  aristo- 
crat in  conviction  as  well  as  in  feeling,  he  disliked  America  on 
general  principles,  as  he  disliked  all  republican  experiments  of  gov- 
ernment or  forms  of  society.  There  was  probably  also  a  personal 
edge  to  this  dislike,  from  the  recollection  of  his  uncle's  first  mar- 
riage, of  which  he  had  himself  known  nothing,  but  which  had 
been  represented  to  him  by  his  father — Prince  Waldegrave's  elder 
brother — as  an  act  of  consummate  folly.  He  had  rarely  seen  his 
brilliant  uncle  until  after  this  act  of  folly  had  been  completely  set 
aside;  but  on  the  death  of  his  father,  Prince  Waldegrave  had 
taken  charge  of  him,  and,  as  time  went  on,  had  given  him  the 
place  of  a  son  in  his  house  and  heart.  For,  as  he  sometimes 
thought,  had  he  been  granted  a  son,  he  could  not  have  desired 
him  different  from  Otto,  whose  intellectual  powers  were  seconded 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  195 

by  an  ambition  which  promised  to  control  his  life  as  thoroughly 
as  the  same  passion  had  controlled  that  of  Prince  Waldegrave 
himself.  Placed  early  in  the  diplomatic  service,  he  was  already 
distinguished  as  much  by  his  ability  as  by  his  name  and  connec- 
tion. The  usual  follies  of  youth  had  played  but  a  small  part  in 
his  career.  Fired,  no  doubt,  by  his  uncle's  rapid  elevation,  his 
heart  had  from  childhood  been  set  on  high  and  stern  pursuits. 
And  he  was  no  dreamer.  He  knew  that  the  price  of  greatness  is 
always,  in  one  form  or  another,  "  to  scorn  delights  and  live  labo- 
rious days,"  and  he  was  ready  to  pay  that  price.  An  intense 
student,  a  clear  thinker,  with  a  nature  for  which  frivolities  pos- 
sessed no  attraction,  he  had  avoided  those  shoals  and  quicksands 
on  which  many  a  life  of  fair  promise  has  been  wrecked ;  and  there 
was  a  mingling  of  austerity  and  poetry  in  his  character  which  had 
so  far  rendered  him  insensible  to  the  charms  of  women.  Perhaps 
nothing  about  his  nephew  gave  Prince  Waldegrave  greater  satis- 
faction than  this  insensibility.  "No  woman  will  ever  blind 
Aim/"  he  had  said  to  himself  more  than  once  with  grim  pleasure. 

And  now  it  was  a  woman's  face  which  floated  •  before  the 
young  man's  fancy  as  he  walked  along  the  Pincio,  with  all  the 
soft  sights  and  sounds  of  spring  around  him.  "Wheels  were  flash- 
ing by,  voices  mingling  in  every  form  of  civilized  speech,  fount- 
ains were  rising  and  falling  as  if  keeping  time  to  the  strains  of 
music  ;  the  marble  busts  of  poets,  heroes,  and  statesmen  looked 
with  serene  gravity  from  their  pedestals  at  the  motley  throng 
which  filled  the  avenues ;  overhead  arched  the  same  deep-blue  Eo- 
man  sky  that  smiled  upon  the  gardens  of  Lucullus  on  this  Pincian 
Hill ;  and  afar  beyond  St.  Peter's  the  sun  was  going  down  into  a 
great  bed  of  glory.  Count  Waldegrave,  if  not  a  social  favorite, 
was  at  least  a  marked  person  in  society;  so  he  had  to  pay  his 
respects  at  other  carriages  besides  that  of  Lady  Dorchester,  to  re- 
ceive many  congratulations  on  his  uncle's  recovery,  and  acknowl- 
edge many  gracious  speeches  about  his  own  return — until  at  length, 
weary  of  these  civilities,  he  left  the  neighborhood  of  the  crowd  and 
wandered  away  in  the  direction  of  the  Muro-Torto,  that  strange 
fragment  of  ancient  wall,  which  for  fourteen  centuries  has  seemed 
about  to  fall,  yet  remains  immovable. 

Standing  here  by  the  parapet,  in  comparative  solitude,  he 


196  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

looked  afar,  over  the  intervening  space  of  the  Campagna,  to  the 
blue  heights  which  began  to  wear  their  softest  evening  lights  and 
shades — aerial  hills,  borrowing  tints  from  the  sky  into  which  they 
melted  with  many  an  exquisite  rise  and  fall  of  outline,  while  the 
wide  plain  at  their  feet  seemed  swimming  in  light.  The  atmos- 
phere was  full  of  charm — the  mingled  charm  of  spring  and  Italy. 
What  is  there  in  this  enchanted  air  which  seems  to  suggest  all  the 
passion  and  romance  with  which  it  has  throbbed  ?  Delicate, 
subtile,  yet  of  exceeding  sweetness,  it  stirs  the  current  of  the  cold- 
est blood,  fires  the  most  slugglish  imagination.  As  a  waft  of 
fragrance  floated  up  from  a  cluster  of  violets  that  hung  on  his 
coat,  Waldegrave  felt  as  if  he  appreciated  for  the  first  time  the 
full  spell  of  Italy — as  if  all  the  glory  of  her  past  and  the  beauty 
of  her  present,  melting  into  one  wonderful  whole,  were  suffused 
with  golden  light,  like  the  plain  below  him,  and  made  the  back- 
ground for  a  face  fair  as  the  dream  of  some  artist  under  the  sky 
of  Hellas. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MES.  FALCONER'S  doubt  whether  IrSne  could  be  induced  to  ap- 
pear at  Lady  Dorchester's  reception  proved  well  founded.  Though 
not  absolutely  refusing  to  do  so,  the  girl  evinced  so  much  reluc- 
tance that  it  was  impossible  to  press  the  point. 

"  Since  you  object  so  much,  I  will  not  insist,"  Mrs.  Falconer 
said ;  "  I  can  only  assure  you  that  I  would  not  have  proposed  such 
a  thing  without  a  reason.  It  is  not  mere  caprice  on  my  part." 

"I  never  thought  that  it  was,"  IrSne  answered;  "and  if  you 
insist,  I  will  go  ;  but,  if  your  reason  is  not  very  important,  I  shall 
be  glad  to  be  spared.  It  seems  so  short  a  time — my  mourning  is 
so  fresh — " 

"  My  dear  child,"  Mrs.  Falconer  hastened  to  say,  "  I  should  not 
have  thought  of  proposing  any  but  the  quietest  mode  of  going  out. 
Lady  Dorchester  is  simply  at  home  to  her  friends,  and  we  drop  in 
and  take  a  cup  of  tea— that  is  all.  Society  in  any  gay  sense  I 
never  dreamed  of  for  you." 

"  Even  that  is  more  than  I  feel  inclined  to  face,"  said  the  girl. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  197 

"If  you  wish,  I  will  appear  on  the  evenings  when  you  are  quietly 
at  home ;  but  I  can  not  do  more — yet." 

"  That  will  do,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  kissing  her.  "  I  shall  be 
satisfied  with  that." 

Lady  Dorchester  was  not  satisfied,  however,  when  the  speaker 
made  her  appearance  without  the  promised  attraction— and  she 
expressed  her  disappointment  very  frankly.  "  "Why  did  you  not 
bring  her  nolens  nolens  ?  "  she  asked.  "  She  would  soon  have 
found  that  our  festivity  is  of  the  mildest  order.  And  now,  you 
see,  1  am  forsworn — for  I  have  promised  an  introduction  to 
her." 

"  My  dear  Lady  Dorchester,  that  was  very  rash,  since  I  spoke 
doubtfully  of  the  probability  of  bringing  her." 

"But  I  felt  sure  that  you  would — and  the  man  to  whom  I 
promised  it  is  one  whom  I  never  heard  express  any  interest  or 
curiosity  about  a  woman  before :  so  I  thought  he  ought  to  be  en- 
couraged. I  shall  present  him  to  you  instead,  and  you  can  invite 
him  to  your  receptions,  and  perhaps  let  him  meet  Miss  Lescar." 

"May  I  ask  who  he  is?" 

"  Count  Waldegrave — nephew  of  Prince  Waldegrave.  He  is 
attached  to  his  embassy  here,  but  has  been  out  of  Rome  for  a 
month  or  more  in  attendance  on  his  nncle,  who — as  no  doubt 
you  have  observed  from  the  newspapers — has  been  very  ill." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  in  vague  assent.  "Worldly  training 
had  seldom  stood  her  in  better  stead  than  at  that  moment.  She 
had  a  sense  of  being  mentally  knocked  down,  which  almost  made 
her  catch  her  breath.  Count  "Waldegrave !  It  seemed  incredible 
that  he,  of  all  men,  should  be  seeking,  desiring  an  introduction  to 
Irene!  "Thank  Heaven,  she  did  not  cornel  "  was  her  first  col- 
lected thought. 

Meanwhile,  Lady  Dorchester  had  gone  on  talking.  "A  very 
attractive  man,"  she  was  saying,  "  and  immensely  clever,  but  cold 
as  an  iceberg.  One  sees  that  ambition  is  his  ruling  passion." 

"  What  else  could  be  expected  of  the  nephew  of  his  uncle?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Falconer,  who  had  by  this  time  recovered  the  power 
of  speech.  "  '  Since  he,  misnamed  the  Morning  Star,1  I  doubt  if 
any  one  has  surpassed  Prince  "Waldegrave  in  that  respect." 

"Probably  not;  but  it  has  made  him  a  great  man." 


198  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  "I  think  that  his  ability 
has  made  him  a  great  man ;  his  ambition  has  only  made  him  an 
unscrupulous  one." 

"  A  nice  distinction,"  said  the  other,  smiling.  "  But,  however 
that  may  be,  Count  "Waldegrave  is  the  nephew  of  his  uncle  in 
ability  as  well  as  ambition.  You,  who  have  such  a  penchant  for 
clever  men,  will  like  him." 

"  I  hardly  think  so,"  replied  Mrs.  Falconer,  gravely.  Then,  after 
an  instant's  pause,  she  asked,  "How  is  it  that  such  a  man  has 
sought  to  know  a  girl  not  yet  in  society  ? " 

"  He  has  not  sought  to  know  her,"  answered  Lady  Dorchester. 
"He  was  struck  by  her  beauty — as  who  is  not? — on  the  Pincio,  a 
day  or  two  ago,  and  asked  me  who  she  was.  As  I  have  said,  I  never 
heard  him  express  any  curiosity  about  a  woman  before,  so  I  vol- 
unteered to  introduce  him  to  her  to-night.  Ah !  " — she  lifted  her 
eye-glass — "  here  he  comes.  I  shall  shift  the  odium  of  my  broken 
word  to  your  shoulders." 

This  she  at  once  proceeded  to  do  when  Count  Waldegrave 
came  up. 

"I  am  sorry  that  I  am  not  able  to  fulfill  the  promise  which  I 
made  to  you  on  the  Pincio,"  she  said,  after  shaking  hands  with 
him.  "It  is  not  my  fault,  however,  but  that  of  Mrs.  Falconer — 
to  whom  allow  me  to  present  you,  with  the  hope  that  you  will  re- 
proach her  as  she  deserves." 

"Lady  Dorchester  tells  me  that  she  promised  to  introduce  you 
to  Miss  Lescar,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  looking  keenly  into  the  face 
before  her.  "  I  regret  that  I  should  have  misled  her  into  imagin- 
ing that  Miss  Lescar  would  be  here  to-night.  But  I  can  not  con- 
sent to  bear  the  responsibility  of  her  absence.  She  herself  declined 
to  come.  She  is  in  mourning  for  her  mother." 

She  spoke  the  last  words  deliberately,  with  her  eyes  still  fixed 
on  Count  "Waldegrave's  face,  desiring,  if  possible,  to  surprise  any 
expression  that  should  betray  whether  Irene's  name  had  wakened 
the  recollection  of  his  uncle's  discarded  wife.  But,  as  it  had  not 
done  so — as  he  was,  indeed,  ignorant  of  the  name  of  a  woman  to 
whom  he  had  not  for  years  given  a  thought— his  face  expressed 
no  more  interest  than  courtesy  demanded,  and  Mrs.  Falconer  said 
to  herself  that  he  was  either  endowed  with  a  countenance  which 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  199 

would  be  of  inestimable  value  in  diplomacy,  or  that  the  name  had 
no  significance  to  his  ears. 

"  I  regret  that  I  am  not  to  have  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Miss 
Lescar,"  he  said.  "  Bat  Lady  Dorchester  prepared  me  for  a  pos- 
sible disappointment,  by  telling  me  that  she  had  not  appeared  in 
society." 

"  And  it  is  fortunate  that  I  should  have  given  my  promise  to 
one  capable  of  meeting  disappointment  with  so  much  philosophy," 
said  Lady  Dorchester.  "  I  doubt  if  there  is  another  man  in  Eomo 
who,  under  the  circumstances,  would  not  be  ready  to  anathema- 
tize me." 

"  Then  you  should  be  glad  that  philosophy  is  the  strong  point 
of  a  '  larbaro  TedescJioJ  instead  of  being  unkindly  sarcastic,"  said 
Waldegrave,  smiling.  "  I  can  not  imagine  the  circumstances  which 
would  lead  me  to  be  guilty  of  anathematizing  you  ;  but  my  disap- 
pointment is  perhaps  more  severe  than  you  suppose. — No  one 
could  see  Miss  Lescar  without  being  struck  by  her  remarkable 
beauty,"  he  added,  turning  to  Mrs.  Falconer. 

"It  is  almost  unfortunately  remarkable,"  replied  that  lady. 
"In  Rome,  at  least,  it  is  impossible  for  her  to  escape  constant 
notice  and  admiration.  You  know  the  open  homage  Italians  pay 
to  beauty." 

"  I  think  it  charming,"  said  Lady  Dorchester.  "  I  should  like 
a  beggar  to  bless  God  for  having  made  my  face,  as  I  heard  one 
do,  not  long  ago,  when  Miss  Lescar  passed  him  on  a  church-step." 

"I  am  sure  if  he  had  entertained  the  least  suspicion  of  your 
desire,  or  of  how  efficacious  it  would  probably  prove  in  the  matter 
ofcentesimi,  he  would  have  done  so,"  said  "Waldegrave. 

"  Then  it  would  have  had  no  spontaneity,  and  consequently  no 
value.  No,  no — an  Italian  is  too  shrewd  to  attempt  to  blind  a 
middle-aged  Englishwoman  with  such  palpable  flattery.  But  it 
was  a  genuine  tribute  to  that  exquisite  face  of  Miss  Lescar's — of 
which,  by-the-by,  I  heard  M.  Villefort  say  the  other  day  that  it 
is  the  true  artist  physiognomy — '  at  once  intellectual  and  impas- 
sioned.' " 

"  She  has  the  artist  temperament,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  There 
is  an  echo  of  it  in  her  singing." 

"  The  most  divine  voice !  "  said  Lady  Dorchester  to  Walde- 


200  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

grave.  "  I  hoped  we  should  have  heai'd  that  to-night.  But  dis- 
appointment, no  doubt,  is  good  for  man — and  woman  also." 

As  she  moved  away,  Waldegrave  looked  at  Mrs.  Falconer. 

"  I  am  by  no  means  sure  that  disappointment  is  good  for  man," 
he  said.  "  At  least,  I  fail  to  recognize  its  excellence  in  such  a  case 
as  the  present." 

"  We  generally  fail  to  recognize  what  is  good  for  us  when  it 
comes  in  a  disagreeable  guise,"  she  answered — meeting  his  gaze 
with  eyes  so  full  of  gravity  that  he  was  struck  by  their  expres- 
sion. "  Yet  I  doubt  if  there  is  any  one  whose  experience  can  not 
furnish  examples  of  happily  unfulfilled  desires." 

"There  is  no  question  of  that,"  he  replied;  "but  such  ex- 
amples never  reconcile  one  to  the  unfulfillment  of  fresh  desires." 

"  Then  one  is  a  poor  philosopher;  and  you  have  just  said  that 
philosophy  is  your  strong  point." 

"  You  are  probably  aware  that  to  talk  of  philosophy  is  one 
thing,  to  practice  it  quite  another." 

"I  can  not  imagine  that  they  are  very  different  things  with 
yon,"  she  answered,  smiling  slightly. 

Then  she  turned  from  him  to  speak  to  an  acquaintance  who 
came  toward  her,  and  he  found  himself  wondering  what  it  meant. 
Plainly,  he  was  advised  to  be  satisfied  with  his  disappointment, 
and  believe  that  it  was  for  the  best.  But  why  ?  What  possible 
reason  was  there  why  he  should  not  desire  to  know  Miss  Lescar — 
a  desire  which  Lady  Dorchester  had  intimated  was  shared  by 
many  other  men  in  Rome?  There  could  be  no  doubt  that  up  to 
the  last  moment  he  had  been  conscious  of  that  disinclination  to 
exchange  the  ideal  for  the  real,  which  he  had  confessed  on  the 
Pincio;  but  this  fanciful  hesitation  vanished  before  a  tangible 
obstacle  ;  and  according  to  a  rule  which  is  universal  in  its  appli- 
cation to  human  nature — whether  philosophical  or  unphilosoph- 
ical — difficulty  sensibly  quickened  desire. 

There  was,  however,  nothing  more  to  be  said  to  Mrs.  Falconer, 
round  whom  her  special  friends  were  gathering.  The  rooms 
were  filled  with  all  that  was  best  in  Roman  society,  for  Lady 
Dorchester,  no  more  than  Mrs.  Falconer,  cared  to  open  her  salon 
solely  to  her  own  country-people.  "If  I  wanted  English  society 
pure  and  simple,  what  would  prevent  my  staying  in  England  to 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  201 

enjoy  it?  "  she  said.  "When  I  come  abroad,  it  is  for  something 
else."  The  something  else  was  here  in  force — all  the  picturesque 
mingling  of  nationalities  which  makes  Rome  unique— and  there 
was  no  lack  of  cordial  welcome  on  all  sides  for  Count  Waldegrave. 

"I  saw  you  talking  to  Mrs.  Falconer,"  said  an  attache  of  the 
English  embassy  to  him  presently.  "  A  charming  woman — with 
one  of  the  pleasantest  salons  in  Rome.  The  talk  in  her  drawing- 
room  is  always  good — one  hears  the  best  of  the  brilliant  things 
that  are  floating  about  in  this  Roman  atmosphere.  It  is  neutral 
ground  where  all  free  lances  have  a  tilt  at  each  other,  and  where 
Philistines  and  votaries  of  the  Higher  Cult  may  shake  hands. 
You'll  like  it,"  he  ended,  with  much  the  same  words  Lady  Dor- 
chester had  used  when  assuring  Mrs.  Falconer  that  she  would  like 
Count  Waldegrave. 

"Perhaps  so,"  the  latter  answered,  "but  I  am  not  likely  to 
present  myself  without  an  invitation,  and  Mrs.  Falconer  has  not 
given  me  that." 

"  Oh,  she  overlooked  it,  no  doubt,"  the  other  said.  "  She  is 
exclusive  in  her  own  way.  Rank  and  wealth  have  no  effect  with 
her  ;  but  she  adores  cleverness,  and  I  am  sure  you  would  prove  a 
congenial  spirit." 

"  There  was  nothing  to  evoke  congeniality  in  our  conversa- 
tion," said  Waldegrave,  smiling. 

But,  although  he  smiled,  he  felt  that  he  had  been  treated  with 
distinct  discouragement  by  Mrs.  Falconer,  and  it  was  a  sensation 
which  surprised  far  more  than  it  piqued  him.  What  could  be  the 
meaning  of  it  ?  he  asked  himself  once  more.  What  had  he  said  or 
done,  or  left  unsaid  or  undone?  Had  his  desire  to  know  Miss 
Lescar  in  preference  to  herself  wounded  that  vanity  which  is  the 
weak  point  of  many  a  woman?  The  recollection  of  her  grave 
glance,  full  of  serious  meaning,  seemed  to  disprove  this  conjecture. 
He  did  her  no  more  than  justice  in  recognizing  that  pettiness  of 
the  kind  was  impossible  to  one  whose  countenance  expressed  so 
much  that  was  at  once  sweet  and  noble. 

The  woman  of  whom  he  thought  thus  was  meanwhile  not  a 
little  disturbed  in  mind  by  what  seemed  to  her  a  singular  freak  of 
fate.  That  Count  Waldegrave  should  be  seeking,  desiring  to  know 
Irene,  was  almost  incredible — yet,  since  it  was  true,  the  question 


202  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

arose,  what  was  her  best  course  of  action  ?  If  Irene  appeared  in 
society  at  all,  could  she  avoid  meeting  him  ?  And  could  she  (Mrs. 
Falconer),  without  any  apparent  reason  whatever,  close  her  door 
in  his  face  ?  These  reflections  made  an  undertone  to  all  that  went 
on  around  her ;  and  when  she  found  herself  at  home,  presented 
themselves  in  the  light  of  problems  to  be  solved.  As  she  sat 
before  her  dressing-table,  gazing  between  tall  candles  into  the 
mirror,  while  her  maid  combed  out  the  soft  masses  of  her  hair,  it 
was  with  eyes  that  hardly  saw  her  own  image,  so  much  was  her 
mind  occupied. 

For  there  were  many  things  to  be  taken  into  consideration, 
she  said  to  herself.  One  was  Irene's  peculiar  character.  She  had 
not  forgotten  the  glimpse  given  at  Madame  Lescar's  death  of  the 
passionate  bitterness  with  which  the  girl  regarded  her  father;  she 
dreaded  for  her  anything  which  should  rouse  this  feeling,  and 
what  could  rouse  it  more  than  the  sight  of  -Prince  Waldegrave's 
adopted  son?  All  the  outraged,  impotent  sense  of  wrong  would 
rush  back  upon  the  nature  which  grief  had  softened  but  certainly 
not  subdued.  Yet  how  to  prevent  such  a  meeting  ?  There  was 
the  policy  of  seclusion ;  but  in  that  case  she  must  incur  the  re- 
sponsibility of  subjecting  a  girl — who,  after  all,  might  prove  to 
be  like  other  girls — to  the  constant  society  of  a  young,  not  unat- 
tractive man  who  was  deeply  in  love  with  her.  And  love  in  itself 
is  a  potent  attraction — provided  that  the  man  who  offers  it  is  not 
positively  disagreeable  to  the  woman  whom  he  loves,  and  that  she 
has  an  unoccupied  heart.  Tossed  on  the  horns  of  this  dilemma, 
Mrs.  Falconer  breathed  a  sigh  so  deep  that  it  startled  her  sleepy 
maid  into  alert  attention,  and  made  her  suspect  that  her  mistress 
was  the  victim  of  some  malady  of  the  heart.  Meeting  her  quick, 
sharp  glance  in  the  mirror,  the  mistress  smiled. 

"  That  will  do,  Mathilde,"  she  said,  putting  up  her  hand  to  her 
hair.  "  I  will  go  to  bed  now." 

But  going  to  bed  and  going  to  sleep  were  different  things,  for 
the  tormenting  questions  banished  slumber  from  her  pillow. 
"  Shall  I  write  to  Mr.  Stanhope?  "  she  asked  herself  as  a  last  re- 
source from  perplexity ;  but  the  recollection  of  the  length  of  time 
necessary  for  a  reply  seemed  to  negative  this.  She  had  heard 
from  him  several  times  during  the  winter,  and  in  his  last  letter  he 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  203 

had  spoken  of  going  on  an  expedition  into  the  Atlas  Mountains — 
so  there  was  no  telling  when  a  letter  would  reach  him.  She  must 
therefore  arrive  at  a  decision  unaided  by  his  advice.  And  finally, 
after  much  reflection,  she  did  so. 

"  I  will  tell  Ir&ne,"  she  thought,  "  and  let  her  decide  whether 
or  not  she  will  run  the  risk  of  meeting  Count  Waldegrave.  She 
has  a  right  to  do  so.  And  if,  as  I  fear,  it  would  be  deeply  painful 
to  her,  I  would  rather  leave  Rome  than  subject  her  to  it." 


CHAPTER  V. 

Mrs.  Falconer  woke  the  next  morning  it  was  with  that 
weight  upon  the  mind  which  tells  at  once  of  something  unpleas- 
ant either  past  or  impending.  And  with  the  full  return  of  con- 
sciousness she  remembered  that,  in  this  case,  it  was  both  past  and 
impending.  But,  although  a  decision  arrived  at  by  night  is  often 
changed  under  the  light  of  the  morning,  she  felt  no  inclination  to 
change  that  at  which  she  had  arrived.  Had  Stanhope  been  con- 
veniently at  hand,  she  would  certainly  have  deferred  the  matter 
to  his  decision ;  but,  since  he  had  chosen  to  convey  himself  into 
the  wilds  of  Algeria,  she  was  forced  to  do  what  seemed  to  her  the 
next  best  thing — leave  it  to  Irene,  whom  assuredly  it  altogether 
concerned. 

Having  taken  her  coffee  in  her  own  room  as  usual,  she  sent 
her  maid  to  ask  Miss  Lescar  to  come  to  her.  A  minute  later  the 
door  opened,  and  Ir£ne  entered.  She  was  dressed  for  walking — 
and  something  in  her  appearance  and  manner  suggested  all  the 
freshness  and  sweetness  of  the  spring.  The  heavy  lassitude  of 
grief  had  passed,  and  the  elastic  step,  the  bright,  clear  glance 
unconsciously  reflected  the  divine  joyousness  of  awakening  nat- 
ure. Despite  her  black  draperies,  she  looked  like  a  nymph, 
whose  longing  was  for  wild  woodland  haunts,  and  upland  sweeps 
of  breezy  hills. 

"  You  are  going  out,  I  see,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  Where  ? — 
and  with  whom? " 

"Oh,  the  morning  seemed  too  exquisite  to  spend  in  the 
house  ;  so  I  was  on  my  way  to  beg  Mrs.  Vance  to  come  with  me 


204:  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

for  a  turn  on  the  Pincio,  when  Mathilde  gave  me  your  message," 
the  girl  answered.  "  But  it  is  not  a  matter  of  any  importance 
whether  I  go  or  not." 

"  Yes  it  is,  if  you  wish  to  go.  It  is  true  I  want  to  talk  to 
you ;  but  our  desires  may  be  reconciled  if  you  do  not  mind  ac- 
cepting me  for  a  companion  instead  of  Aunt  Marion  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be  delighted,"  was  the  quick  reply.  "  I  often  feel 
that  our  lives  are  so  separated  now — that  I  see  so  little  of  you." 

"That,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  "is  a  necessity  of  our  different 
modes  of  life;  but  I  hope  they  will  not  be  so  different  after 
awhile,  for  I  regret  the  separation  as  much  as  you  do.  We  will 
go  this  morning  to  the  Pincio,  however,  and  enjoy  the  delicious 
air  and  sunshine  together.  Will  you  ring  for  Mathilde  ? " 

Mathilde  appeared  and  equipped  her  mistress  for  walking. 
Then  the  two  ladies  went  out,  and  were  soon  following  the  wind- 
ing road  which  leads  to  the  top  of  the  Pincian.  At  this  hour  the 
promenade  was  almost  deserted.  There  were  no  carriages  and 
few  pedestrians  visible — only  some  nurses  in  picturesque  Alba- 
nese  costume,  with  their  small  charges;  two  or  three  intrepid- 
looking  Englishwomen  in  sealskin  jackets,  a  priest  seated  on  a 
bench  reading  his  breviary,  a  couple  of  loitering  artists  leaning 
over  the  balustrade  of  the  great  terrace.  It  was,  as  Irene  had 
said,  a  day  of  exquisite  beauty.  The  air  seemed  sparkling  with 
sunshine,  and  contained  an  exhilarating  qualify  which  recalled 
Shelley's  words  when  he  spoke  of  "the  effect  of  the  awaken- 
ing spring  in  that  divinest  climate,  the  new  life  with  which  it 
drenches  the  spirit  even  to  intoxication."  The  historic  city 
seemed  glittering  with  light  over  all  her  myriad  domes,  her  tow- 
ers, and  palaces ;  the  majestic  curve  of  St.  Peter's  rose  against  a 
dazzling  infinity  of  sky ;  the  girdling  Campagna  was  full  of  inde- 
scribable color,  changing  from  delicate  green  in  the  foreground  to 
marvelous  shades  of  blue  and  purple  afar,  where  it  met  the  hills 
robed  in  azure  and  wrapped  in  tender  haze,  through  which 
gleamed  here  and  there  the  crest  of  some  snow-clad  peak. 

"How  divine  they  are — those  hills!"  said  Mrs.  Falconer. 
"Now  that  spring  has  come,  we  must  make  some  excursions  into 
them.  Should  you  not  like  that?" 

The  girl's  face  answered  for  her.     "  Of  late  I  have  never  looked 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  205 

at  them  without  desiring  it,"  she  said.  "  They  seem  to  invite,  to 
beckon  one — it  is  like  the  song  of  the  sirens.  I  don't  know  how 
it  is  possible  for  any  one  to  resist  their  invitation." 

"  We  will  not,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "And  so  much  that  is 
interesting  lies  hidden  there,  of  which  the  multitude  of  people 
around  us — English  and  Americans  who  fancy  themselves'cultured, 
and  who  spend  their  time  in  lounging  on  the  Pincian  and  the 
Corso,  in  visiting  at  one  another's  houses,  in  buying  cameos  and 
perhaps  riding  on  the  Campagna — know  no  more  than  they  do  of 
the  Rome  that  lies  beyond  the  Piazza  di  Spagna.  Perhaps  I  have 
no  right  to  be  scornful  of  them,  for  I  have  been  very  much  living 
their  life  this  winter — though  I  hope  with  an  idea  or  two  outside 
of  it — but  we  will  leave  it  all  behind  and  plunge  into  Italy,  the 
real  Italy  which  those  blue  hills  still  guard,  and  which  has  not  yet 
been  ruthlessly  plowed  up  in  the  name  of  civilization — which  here, 
at  least,  under  the  present  regime,  is  a  term  for  barbarism  worse 
than  that  of  the  Goths." 

"  Bien  dit !  "  said  Irene.     "  And  when  shall  we  go  ?  " 

"  "We  will  begin  a  series  of  excursions  as  soon  as  the  spring  is 
fairly  open,  and — Mr.  Stanhope  comes." 

"  But  when  will  he  come  ?  " 

"Ah,  who  can  say?  He  may  wander  away  into  the  interior 
of  Africa  and  be  heard  of  no  more  for  a  year  or  so.  But  in 
that  case  we  will  not  wait  for  him,  but  will  make  the  best  of 
Lionel." 

"  What  a  shame  to  speak  so  of  Mr.  Erne!  "  said  Irene,  with  a 
smile.  "It  is  very  ungrateful,  after  having  made  the  best  of  him 
all  winter." 

"Yes,  he  has  been  very  useful,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "But 
here  is  a  quiet  place — shall  we  sit  down  ? " 

It  was  on  the  north  side  of  the  hill.  They  had  turned  into  a 
path  screened  by  shrubbery  from  the  road,  and  bounded  on  the 
other  side  by  the  parapet  which  guards  the  precipice  where  it 
drops  in  sheer  descent  more  than  a  hundred  feet  to  the  grounds 
of  the  Villa  Borghese.  Mrs.  Falconer  sat  down  on  a  bench,  and 
made  room  for  Irene  beside  her.  As  the  girl  obeyed  the  gesture, 
she  was  struck  by  the  expression  of  the  face  which  a  large  para- 
sol shaded  without  concealing. 


203  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"Dear  Mrs.  Falconer,"  she  said,  quickly,  "has  anything  oc- 
curred to  annoy  you  ?  " 

"  Have  I  betrayed  it?  "  asked  Mrs.  Falconer,  smiling  slightly. 
"  You  are  a  close  observer.  Yes,  I  have  been  annoyed  a  little — 
not  very  seriously.  And  about  you." 

"  About  me !     What  have  I  done  ?  " 

"  What  have  you  done  ?  My  dear  child,  nothing  at  all !  How 
could  you  imagine  that  you  had  done  anything?  I  said  that  I  was 
annoyed  about,  not  with,  you." 

"But  how  is  that  possible,  unless  in  some  way  I  am  to  blame  ?  " 

"  Because  another  person  is  concerned  in  the  matter.  You  are 
certainly  not  accountable  for  what  other  people  may  say  or  do. 
And  it  is  not  your  fault  that  you  are  beautiful,"  she  ended,  with  a 
smile. 

"  I  think  I  understand,"  said  Irene,  quietly ;  and  her  brilliant 
eyes  met  her  companion's  without  a  shade  of  wavering.  "  Mr. 
Erne  has  been  talking  to  you,  has  he  not?  " 

"  Has  he  been  talking  to  you  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Falconer,  not  a 
little  startled  by  this  unexpected  question. 

"  In  the  way  you  mean — not  at  all,"  the  girl  answered,  with 
the  same  composure.  "  But,  of  course,  I  should  be  blind  if  I  did 
not  see  that  he  fancies  himself  what  is  called  '  in  love '  with  me. 
I  thought  that  perhaps  he  had  spoken  of  it  to  yon,  and  that  you 
would  tell  him  that  I  have  no  thought  of  such  folly.  It  has  no 
place  at  all  in  my  life." 

She  uttered  the  last  words  impatiently — as  one  who  wishes  to 
put  aside  an  annoyance  and  hear'  no  more  of  it — and  Mrs.  Falco- 
ner was  for  a  moment  incapable  of  reply.  The  decision  of 
the  speech  did  not  surprise  her  more  than  the  expression  of  the 
proud  young  face— for  almost  unconsciously  the  nostrils  had 
dilated,  the  delicate  lips  curved  with  scorn. 

"I  never  thought,"  she  said,  presently,  "that  you  were  likely 
to  return  Lionel's  passion,  but  I  have  only  allowed  his  constant 
association  with  you  under  a  pledge  that  he  would  not  take  ad- 
vantage of  it  for  love-making — and  I  am  glad  that  he  has  kept 
it." 

"Yes,  he  has  kept  it,"  said  Irene,  indifferently.  "But  words 
amount  to  very  little.  And  you  need  not  have  been  afraid  of 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  207 

love-making,"  she  added,  with  the  scornful  curve  again  on  her 
lip.  "  I  should  have  ended  that  very  soon." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Falconer,  directly — her  curiosity  as  well 
as  her  surprise  excited. 

"Why?"  repeated  the  girl — and  now  the  composure  vanished 
from  her  face,  and  quick  feeling  flashed  from  every  feature — "  be- 
cause your  cousin  is  nothing  to  me.  And  because  there  is  no  man 
on  the  earth  who  could  win  my  heart.  I  shall  never  marry.  Not 
from  want  of  love — for  love  means  nothing  to  me — but  because  I 
have  no  recognized  rank  or  name,  and  I  have  the  most  arrogant 
spirit  upon  which  the  sun  shines ;  one  to  which  the  humiliation 
that  brands  me  is  like  an  unceasing  burn,  and  which  will  never 
permit  me  either  to  take  voluntarily  a  lower  rank  than  that  which 
should  be  mine,  or  to  allow  a  king  to  feel  that  he  stooped  to  me." 

"  Irdne— my  dear  child !  "  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  She  was  star- 
tled yet  not  astonished  by  this  glimpse  of  the  fiery  spirit.  It  was 
like  an  echo,  a  confirmation  of  what  she  had  been  thinking  the 
night  before.  She  had  never  been  deceived  by  the  girl's  outward 
composure  and  habitual  gentleness;  she  had  a  glimpse  once  of 
what  lay  beneath,  and  she  had  never  forgotten  it. 

"  Why  should  you  think  of  these  things  ?  "  she  asked.  "  What 
do  they  matter?  In  yourself  you  are  worthy  of  the  highest  love, 
and  if  you  should  ever  give  it — " 

"  I  tell  you  that  it  is  impossible,"  Ir&ne  interrupted.  "  Do  not 
speak  to  me  of  such  a  thing.  Apart  from  what  I  have  said,  it 
seems  to  me  the  greatest  curse  that  has  been  laid  upon  humanity 
— this  passion  that  blinds  people's  eyes,  that  makes  them  commit 
innumerable  follies,  that  deprives  one  of  one's  freedom,  and  gives 
to  another  the  power  to  strike  one  to  the  heart !  I  saw  the  result 
once — I  saw  my  mother — that  is  enough !  " 

She  rose  quickly  and  walked  away.  Her  hands  were  clasped 
together;  it  was  evident  that  she  was  quivering  in  every  fiber 
with  the  passionate  force  of  feeling  that  had  been  aroused. 
Mrs.  Falconer  looked  after  her  with  a  sense  of  bewilderment. 
What  was  to  be  made  of  such  a  nature  as  this? — and  what 
would  become  of  it?  She  thought  of  Madame  Lescar,  of  her 
fears,  that  had  seemed  exaggerated,  of  her  solemn  words  of  warn- 
ing. Was  not  all  that  she  had  described,  revealed  here — the 


208  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

tortured  pride,  the  high  ambition,  the  fierce,  implacable  resent- 
ment? "  Poor  child!  "  she  said  to  herself  with  a  sense  of  compas- 
sion, as  she  looked  at  the  slender,  black-clad  figure  standing  by 
the  parapet,  outlined  against  the  wide,  beautiful  scene  of  sky 
and  plain  and  far  mountains. 

She  made  no  motion  to  follow,  but  waited  quietly  until  the 
girl  turned  and  came  slowly  back  to  her.  The  large  eyes  were 
still  shining  in  the  pale  face,  but  otherwise  she  had  regained  her 
usual  composure.  She  did  not  resume  her  seat,  however,  but 
paused  in  front  of  Mrs.  Falconer. 

"  Forgive  me,"  she  said,  "  if  I  have  said  anything  that  I  ought 
not — particularly  anything  that  seemed  unkind  with  regard  to  Mr. 
Erne,  whom  I  really  like  very  much.  But  now  you  understand 
me,  and  the  subject  need  never  be  mentioned  between  us  again." 

"Whether  I  understand  you  or  not,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer, 
"you  have  very  much  misunderstood  me.  When  I  began  to 
speak,  Lionel  was  not  in  my  mind  at  all.  It  is  impossible  for 
any  one  not  to  perceive  that  he  is  very  much  in  love  with  you ; 
but  he  has  never,  directly  or  indirectly,  asked  me  to  ascertain 
your  sentiments  toward  him.  So  much  I  must  say  injustice  to 
him." 

"Of  what — of  whom,  then,  were  you  talking?"  asked  Irene, 
while  a  flush  came  into  her  cheeks. 

"  Not  of  any  one  who  is  in  love  with  you — you  will  be  glad 
to  hear,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  with  a  slight,  grave  smile — "only  of 
some  one  who  wishes  to  know  you.  Sit  down  again,  and  let  me 
tell  you  all  about  it." 

Irene  sat  down  without  a  word.  She  felt  humiliated.  How 
ridiculous,  how  vain  it  looked  to  have  anticipated  Mrs.  Falconer 
in  such  a  manner,  and  avowed  her  knowledge  of  what  she  waa 
aware  women  are  not  supposed  to  know  until  they  are  told  1 

"In  the  first  place,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  "I  am  glad  you  did 
not  go  with  me  to  Lady  Dorchester's  last  night.  She  expressed 
great  regret  that  you  did  not  appear,  not  only  on  her  own  account, 
but  because  she  had  promised  to  introduce  to  you  a  man  who  had 
seen  you,  and  been  struck  with  your  beauty.  There  are  many 
men,  no  doubt,  who  have  been  so  struck,  but  this  man  proved  to 
be— Count  Waldegrave." 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  209 

"  Mrs.  Falconer — !"  The  words  were  a  gasp,  and  the  girl 
drew  back  as  one  might  from  the  touch  of  a  serpent. 

"Probably  you  do  not  know  who  he  is,"  Mrs.  Falconer  went 
on,  quietly.  "  He  is  your  cousin,  and  the  adopted  son  of — Prince 
Waldegrave.  He  is  attached  to  his  embassy  here  in  Home,  but 
has  been  absent  for  some  time,  so  that  I  never  met  him  before." 

There  was  a  pause— in  reality  not  long,  yet  which  seemed  long 
to  both.  Irene  put  her  hand  to  her  throat  as  if  she  could  not  ar- 
ticulate. When  she  finally  spoke,  the  voice  did  not  sound  like  her 
own. 

"And  he  wishes  to  know  me  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,"  Mrs.  Falconer  answered.  "  I  have  no  reason  to  believe 
that  he  imagines  in  the  least  who  you  are.  I  tested  him  as  far 
as  possible — and  either  he  does  not  suspect,  or  his  command  of 
countenance  is  incredible." 

"How  can  he  fail  to  suspect,"  said  the  girl  in  the  same  strained 
voice,  "  when  I  bear  my  mother's  name?  " 

"  It  is  possible  that  he  may  never  have  heard  your  mother's 
name.  Of  course,  as  your  father's  wife,  she  bore — " 

"Yes,"  said  Irene.  She  was  silent  for  another  minute,  and 
Mrs.  Falconer,  glancing  at  her,  saw  that  she  was  gazing  steadfastly 
at  the  distant  horizon,  while  her  face  wore  a  look  as  set  and  white 
as  that  of  one  of  the  marble  heads  gleaming  from  the  shrubbery 
behind  them.  Presently  she  spoke  without  moving.  "  It  is  very 
strange,"  she  said,  slowly.  "Why  does  he  wish  to  know  me?  " 

"Your  mirror  must  answer  that  question,"  replied  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner. "  He  saw  you,  he  asked  Lady  Dorchester  who  you  were? 
and  she  promised  to  introduce  him  to  you,  because  she  never  knew 
him  to  express  interest  or  curiosity  about  a  woman  before." 

"  And  does  not  that  look  as  if  he  must  be  aware — " 

"  Hardly.  The  more  I  reflect  upon  the  matter,  the  more  I  am 
inclined  to  believe  that  no  thought  of  who  you  are  has  entered  his 
mind.  If  it  had,  I  can  not  conceive  for  what  reason  he  should 
seek  to  know  you." 

"  Neither  can  I,"  said  Irene.  "  And  you — what  did  you  tell 
him?" 

"  That  I  regretted  his  disappointment ;  but  that  Lady  Dorches- 
ter was  mistaken  in  imagining  that  there  was  ever  a  promise  of 


210  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

your  going.  And  I  gave  him  no  hope  of  meeting  you  at  another 
time.  But  I  felt  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  guard  against  the 
danger  of  such  a  meeting  if  you  appear  at  all  in  society — as  we 
agreed  that  it  is  best  you  should ;  so  I  determined  to  leave  it  to 
you  to  decide  whether  you  will  continue  your  life  of  seclusion,  or 
will  take  the  risk." 

Silence  for  another  minute.  Then,  saying  in  a  stifled  voice,  "I 
must  think— I  must  consider  1 "  Irene  rose  again  and  walked  away. 

This  time  her  footsteps  led  her  to  that  point  of  the  hill  where 
the  parapet  overlooks  the  ruined  Muro  Torto  ;  and  there,  on  the 
same  spot  where  Waldegrave  had  found  himself  haunted  by  the 
memory  of  her  face,  she  paused  to  do  battle  with  herself  in  one  of 
the  sternest  moments  of  her  life. 

For  she  felt  instinctively  how  much  hung  on  her  decision. 
And  she  also  felt  that,  as  one  should  flee  from  stress  of  mighty 
temptation,  so  there  was  but  one  word  for  her  to  utter — and  that 
word  was,  No.  But  all  the  passion  of  her  nature  seemed  to 
rise  up  and  forbid  the  utterance.  She  could  hear  nothing,  heed 
nothing,  except  one  thought  which  was  surging  through  her  mind : 
"  I  have  done  nothing  to  bring  this  about :  it  has  come  of  itself!  " 
If  Stanhope  had  seen  her  at  that  moment,  he  would  have  been 
struck  by  the  likeness  which  her  face  wore  to  that  of  her  proud 
and  dominant  father.  Her  lips  were  compressed  into  a  straight, 
firm  line ;  her  eyes  were  burning  under  the  dark,  knitted  brows ; 
her  whole  expression  was  of  resolute  force  and  unbending  will. 
It  was  easy  to  see  that  there  were  few  obstacles  she  would  not  be 
ready  to  trample  upon,  few  scruples  that  would  not  perish  like 
straw  in  the  flame  of  her  passion. 

How  long  she  stood  there  she  did  not  know.  At  last  she 
turned  and  went  back  to  Mrs.  Falconer. 

"  I  have  decided,"  she  said,  in  a  clear,  firm  tone.  "  It  is  not 
for  me  to  shrink  from  any  meeting.  Let  us  make  no  change  in 
what  we  intended,  and,  if  Count  "Waldegrave  still  desires  to  know 
me,  do  not  hesitate  to  introduce  him." 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  211 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THAT  abstraction  called  Fate,  which  played  so  large  a  part  in 
the  affairs  of  the  ancients,  and  which  is  not  without  use  to 
moderns,  inasmuch  as  it  serves  to  throw  the  blame  of  many  un- 
toward affairs  and  undesirable  catastrophes  upon,  certainly  seemed 
determined  to  bring  together  two  people  whom  the  natural  course 
of  events  had  placed  far  apart.  It  was  a  sense  of  this  which 
made  Irene  find  it  impossible  to  refuse  to  know  Count  Waldegrave. 
"  I  have  done  nothing  to  bring  it  about — it  has  come  of  itself,"  she 
said,  as  an  Arab  would  have  said,  "  Kismet !  "  It  was  shifting 
responsibility  from  herself  to  something  vague  and  impersonal. 

But  Mrs.  Falconer  had  no  such  inclination.  She  did  not  be- 
lieve in  Fate,  and  she  did  believe  in  the  consequences  of  one's 
own  acts.  The  sense  of  responsibility  was  strong  with  her,  and 
although  she  had  felt  it  right  to  let  Irene  decide  for  herself  in  a 
matter  that  concerned  herself  alone,  she  had  not  doubted  what 
the  decision  would  be.  She  was  sure  that  the  girl's  impulse  would 
at  once  declare  for  avoiding  one  who  recalled,  and  in  a  manner 
represented,  her  mother's  great  wrong.  The  answer  which  she 
received  was,  therefore,  not  only  surprising  but  almost  dismaying. 
Irene  offered  no  explanation — beyond  the  proud  remark,  "It  is 
not  for  me  to  shrink  from  any  meeting  " — and  she  asked  none ; 
but  something  in  the  girl's  manner  rendered  her  uneasy,  and  made 
her  regret  that  she  had  not  kept  her  own  counsel,  and  acted  on 
her  own  judgment.  What  she  feared  she  hardly  knew — but  her 
foreboding  was  at  least  sufficiently  tangible  for  her  to  resolve  that, 
if  it  rested  with  her  to  prevent  a  meeting  between  the  cousins, 
such  a  meeting  should  never  take  place. 

It  did  not  rest  with  her,  however.  On  the  contrary,  she 
proved  the  indirect  means  through  which  the  meeting  came  to 
pass.  It  will  be  remembered  that  she  had  requested  Erne  not  to 
join  Irene  and  Mrs.  Vance  again  in  their  drives,  walks,  or  expe- 
ditions; adding,  "  "When  I  wish  you  to  go,  I  will  ask  you  myself." 
But  the  mood  which  issued  this  prohibition  underwent  a  change 
after  the  conversation  with  Irene  on  the  Pincio.  She  saw  no 
reason  after  that  for  any  further  prohibition  of  intercourse  than 


212  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

the  consideration  of  Mrs.  Grundy  rendered  necessary.  "  The  poor 
fellow  will  soon  enough  learn  that  his  hopes  are  baseless,"  she 
thought.  "  I  will  let  him  have  what  pleasure  he  can,  meanwhile." 
It  must  be  confessed  that  this  was  very  much  the  spirit  with  which 
one  gives  a  child  the  probably  indigestible  sugar- plums  it  covets ; 
but  Erne,  being  fortunately  unaware  of  her  motive,  was  simply 
grateful  when,  on  the  next  time  that  he  presented  himself,  she 
said: 

"Is  not  to-morrow  the  day  for  the  Yilla  Albani?  Irene  has 
not  been  there  yet.  Should  you  not  like  to  go  with  us  in  the 
afternoon?" 

"  I  shall  be  delighted,"  he  answered.  Then  he  turned  to  Irene. 
"Do  you  remember  what  I  was  saying  the  other  day  about  the 
Orpheus  and  Eurydice  ?  I  am  glad  that  I  shall  have  the  pleasure 
of  showing  it  to  you.  But  you  must  sing  '  Che  faro  senza  Euri- 
dice '  for  me  as  a  prelude." 

"  Must  I  ?  "  she  said,  smiling.  She  never  made  any  difficulties 
about  singing— never  begged  to  be  excused,  never  said  that  she 
was  hoarse ;  so  she  crossed  the  floor  to  the  piano,  and  a  moment 
later  her  voice  rose  in  the  song  for  which  he  asked.  She  sang  it, 
as  she  did  everything,  with  a  fervor  that  seemed  to  make  its  pas- 
sion and  its  pathos  for  the  time  her  own.  They  were  thrilling 
tones — tones  that  seemed  to  "  take  up  the  whole  of  love  and  utter 
it " — and  as  Mrs.  Falconer  listened,  she  asked  herself  if  this  could 
be  the  girl  who  had  repudiated  the  very  thought  of  the  passion 
she  was  expressing.  ulf  this  is  merely  the  instinct  of  art, 
what  will  the  force  of  nature  be,  when  the  hour  for  it  strikes !  " 
she  thought;  and  then  she  observed,  with  something  of  a  pang, 
the  look  on  Erne's  face.  The  hour  had  struck  for  him,  and  these 
heart-piercing  tones  were  like  fuel  to  his  flame.  "  Come  to 
luncheon  to-morrow,  Lionel,"  she  said,  when  he  bade  them  good- 
night. It  was  another  sugar-plum,  but  the  young  man  did  not 
know  it  as  he  went  out  into  the  night  with  his  heart  beating  high. 
The  excitement  of  the  music  seemed  to  have  entered  into  his 
veins.  His  was  a  temperament  peculiarly  susceptible  to  such  ex- 
citements— to  everything  that  touched  his  nature  on  its  asthetic 
side.  He  carried  with  him  not  only  the  strains  of  Irene's  voice, 
but  a  picture  of  her  as  she  sang,  with  the  sconces  over  the  piano 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  213 

showering  their  light  down  upon  her.  "  If  I  could  paint  her  so  !  " 
he  thought.  A  line  of  poetry  which  seemed  made  for  her  was 
running  through  his  memory: 

" '  The  star-like  sorrow  of  immortal  eyes,' " 

he  found  himself  murmuring.  They  were  shining  hefore  him, 
filled  with  the  expression  that  had  been  in  them  when  she  sang 
the  "Euridice" — the  sorrow  that  genius  feels  through  sympathy 
with  every  form  of  human  suffering.  "  Your  imagination  is  al- 
ways playing  you  tricks,"  Mrs.  Falconer  often  said  to  him;  hut 
he  felt  sure  that  his  imagination  never  played  him  any  trick  with 
regard  to  Ir£ne.  He  had  recognized  her  for  what  she  was  at 
first ;  and  time  had  not  withered  nor  custom  staled  the  force  and 
freshness  of  her  unique  charm. 

He  made  his  appearance  punctually  the  next  day,  and  in  the 
golden  afternoon  they  drove  out  to  the  Villa  Albani.  Irene  had 
not  seen  this  most  beautiful  of  Roman  villas,  and  her  visit  to  it 
had  been  purposely  delayed.  Several  times  Erne  had  proposed 
to  go,  but  Mrs.  Falconer  always  negatived  the  proposal.  "I 
want  to  wait  until  she  is  really  able  to  enjoy  it,  and  until  I  have 
a  leisure  moment  to  accompany  her,"  she  said.  The  leisure  mo- 
ment had  been  long  in  arriving ;  and  so  it  chanced  that  Irene 
first  saw  in  all  the  glory  of  Italian  spring  this  matchless  spot, 
where,  as  an  English  writer  says,  "  Cardinal  Albani,  having  spent 
his  life  in  collecting  ancient  sculpture,  formed  such  porticoes  and 
such  saloons  to  receive  it  as  an  old  Roman  would  have  done :  por- 
ticoes where  the  statues  stood  free  upon  the  pavement  between 
columns  proportioned  to  their  stature;  saloons  which  were  not 
stocked  but  embellished  by  families  of  allied  statues,  and  seemed 
full  without  a  crowd" — and  where  the  garden,  with  its  groves  of 
ilex  and  avenues  of  box,  its  solemn  cypresses,  its  fountains  and 
columns,  and  terrace  whence  the  eye  beholds  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  of  Roman  views,  forms  a  picture  never  to  be  forgotten. 

It  seemed  to  Count  Waldegrave  that  absence  had  enhanced 
his  sense  of  delight  in  the  beauty,  both  of  nature  and  of  art,  so 
lavishly  displayed  here.  He  was  wandering  with  apparent  aim- 
lessness  but  real  enjoyment  from  room  to  room  filled  with  exqui- 


214  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

site  shapes  of  antique  loveliness,  when  he  entered  the  apartment 
containing  the  famous  Greek  marhle,  representing  the  parting  of 
Orpheus  and  Eurydice.  At  the  moment  it  was  empty  save  for  a 
single  figure — that  of  a  girl  in  deep  mourning  who  stood  before 
the  bas-relief.  She  did  not  turn  her  head  as  his  foot  rang  on  the 
floor,  but  involuntarily  he  paused,  for  a  single  glance  told  him  that 
if  she  turned  he  would  see  the  face  which  he  saw  first  on  the  ter- 
race of  the  Villa  Mattel.  lie  did  not  feel  an  instant's  doubt :  there 
was  no  mistaking  the  shape  and  poise  of  the  slender  figure,  or  the 
distinction  in  the  carriage  of  the  head.  Thought  is  so  quick  that, 
as  he  paused,  he  had  time  to  wonder  how  she  came  to  be  alone, 
when,  to  his  infinite  surprise,  she  spoke— her  low  but  clear  voice 
breaking  on  the  silence  with  the  distinctness  of  a  silver  bell : 

"You  are  right — it  grows  upon  one,"  she  said.  "The  sim- 
plicity is  so  exquisite — and  so  pathetic.  Certainly  the  Greeks 
did  not  believe  in  overstrained  emotion.  It  is,  as  Ampere  says," 
— her  glance  fell  to  a  book  in  her  hand — "  '  Veffet  le  plus  pathe- 
tique  est  produit  par  la  composition  la  plus  simple  ;  demotion  la 
plus  penetrante  s1  exhale  de  la  sculpture  la  plus  tranquille."1 — I 
think  I  feel  that,"  she  added,  turning  toward  him  with  a  smile. 

A  speechless  instant  followed  —  an  inappreciable  space  of 
time,  yet  one  which  seemed  long  to  both  of  the  two  people  so 
unexpectedly  set  face  to  face.  Then  the  girl  recovered  herself. 
A  tide  of  color  flushed  her  clear  white  skin  as  soon  as  she  per- 
ceived her  mistake ;  and  it  had  not  passed  away  when  she  said  in 
French,  "  Pardon,  monsieur — I  mistook  you  for  some  one  else  " — 
and  with  a  slight  bend  of  the  head  passed  him  on  her  way  to 
leave  the  room. 

But  Fate — in  the  persons  of  Mrs.  Falconer  and  Erne — stopped 
her  at  the  door.  It  was  Erne  who  had  left  her  alone  for  a  mo- 
ment while  he  went  back  for  Mrs.  Falconer,  who,  having  lin- 
gered to  speak  to  an  acquaintance,  became  separated  from  them. 
"  Look  at  it  well,"  he  had  said,  alluding  to  the  bas-relief.  "  The 
charm  of  it  will  grow  upon  you.  I  shall  return  in  a  minute." 
And  when  a  minute  later  a  masculine  tread  rang  on  the  floor 
behind  her,  forgetting  that  the  Villa  Albani  might  contain  other 
men  than  the  one  who  had  accompanied  her,  she  spoke  without 
looking  round. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  215 

It  was  all  very  rapid.  Waldegrave  had  only  time — after  ac- 
knowledging her  apology  with  a  deep-  bow— to  move  forward 
mechanically  to  the  sculpture,  when  she  met  her  delinquent  com- 
panions at  the  door. 

"You  perceive  I  had  not  far  to  go,"  said  Erne.  "But  what  is 
the  matter  ?  Surely  you  have  not  tired  of  the  Orpheus  and  Eury- 
dice  already  ? " 

"  I  am  not  so  stupid,"  she  replied.  "  At  least,  not  in  that  way 
— but  I  have  been  very  stupid  in  another.  Do  you  see  that  man? 
I  spoke  to  him  for  you — of  course,  without  looking  around." 

"Moral:  it  is  always  well  to  look  at  people  when  addressing 
them,"  said  Erne,  laughing.  "But  it  was  a  trifling  mistake,  and 
the  man  is  apparently  a  gentleman — therefore  not  likely  to  have 
misunderstood  it." 

"  It  is  of  no  importance,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  Don't  give  it 
any  by  appearing  to  think  of  it." 

She  walked  forward  as  she  spoke ;  but  as  she  approached  the 
bas-relief  and  the  man  standing  before  it  turned,  she  changed  her 
opinion  of  the  importance  of  the  mistake  as  rapidly  and  com- 
pletely as  possible.  She  had  the  true  grande  dame  command  of 
countenance ;  but  for  once  she  was  betrayed  into  an  expression  of 
dismay. 

"  Count  Waldegrave!  "  she  ejaculated. 

"Waldegrave  bowed.  "I  am  happy  that  Mrs.  Falconer  remem- 
bers me,"  he  said. 

There  may  have  been  a  faint  shade X>f  malice  in  the  words,  for 
Mrs.  Falconer's  remembrance  was  evidently  altogether  unmixed 
with  pleasure.  In  a  moment,  however,  she  recovered  herself, 
and,  recognizing  that  the  meeting  she  wished  to  prevent  was 
now  unavoidable,  saw  that  the  only  thing  to  be  done  was  to 
invest  it  with  as  matter-of-course  an  air  as  possible.  Even  at 
that  moment  she  felt  with  a  sense  of  relief  that  she  could  trust 
Irfene.  It  would  be  terribly  unexpected,  but  the  girl  would  not 
blench — she  was  sure  of  that,  and  it  was  much  to  be  sure  of. 

"  Count  Waldegrave  does  not  find  it  remarkable  to  be  remem- 
bered, I  imagine,"  she  said,  with  a  slight  smile — not  without 
gracionsness,  though  certainly  without  warmth.  "Perhaps  I 
should  apologize  for  ray  surprise.  But  one  is  often  absurdly  sur- 


216  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

prised  at  meeting  an  acquaintance  where  one  only  expected  to  see 
a  stranger."  After  a  slight  pause,  she  added,  "  Miss  Lescar  has 
just  had  an  exactly  contrary  surprise,  she  tells  me." 

Waldegrave  glanced  toward  Irdne,  who,  with  Erne,  was  ad- 
vancing. 

"Miss  Lescar  spoke — I  can  scarcely  say  addressed  me — tinder 
the  evident  impression  that  I  was  some  one  else,"  he  replied. 

"  She  supposed  you  to  be  my  cousin,  who  had  left  her  only 
a  moment  before,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  Then  she  turned,  and 
with  an  instinctive  movement  laid  her  hand  on  the  girl's  arm. 
"Irene,"  she  said,  "let  me  introduce  a  gentleman  whom  Fate  has 
gratified  in  his  desire  to  know  you — Count  Waldegrave." 

She  felt  as  if  the  difficulty  which  she  experienced  in  pronounc- 
ing the  name  resulted  in  her  uttering  it  with  almost  violent  dis- 
tinctness. Whether  this  impression  was  correct  or  not,  it  cer- 
tainly had  upon  Erne  the  effect  of  a  thunder-bolt.  He  started 
and  looked  at  his  cousin  as  if  asking  whether  his  ears  had  played 
him  false,  or  whether  she  had  taken  leave  of  her  senses.  But  she 
had  no  attention  to  bestow  upon  him.  All  her  thoughts  wero 
concentrated  upon  Mne.  As  her  hand  rested  on  the  girl's  arm, 
she  could  feel  her  quiver  when  the  name  which  had  such  meaning 
for  her  was  pronounced.  But  her  control  of  countenance  proved 
the  mettle  of  her  courage.  Only  the  sudden,  shining  h'ght  which 
came  into  her  eyes  betrayed  to  her  two  anxious  observers  how 
deeply  she  was  moved.  But  it  naturally  revealed  nothing  to 
Waldegrave.  Having  never  looked  fully  into  those  eyes  before, 
he  was  only  struck  by  their  rare  brilliance,  and  by  the  singular 
directness  and  intentness  of  their  gaze. 

If  Mrs.  Falconer  had  afterward  been  required,  under  pain  of 
severe  penalties,  to  describe  what  followed,  it  is  doubtful  if  she 
could  have  done  so  with  any  degree  of  exactness.  She  had  a  con- 
fused recollection  of  an  exchange  of  platitudes  about  the  Villa ; 
then  she  bethought  herself  t<5  introduce  Erne,  and  they  talked  a 
little  of  Greek  art  as  exhibited  in  the  bas-relief  before  them. 
Count  Waldegrave  remarked  that  it  was  doubtful  whether  the 
scene  had  been  really  intended  to  represent  the  parting  of  Or- 
pheus and  Eurydice  in  Hades;  Erne  replied  that  it  seemed  to  him 
the  correct  explanation  of  the  subject,  but  that  so  long  as  it  rep- 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  217 

resented  that  perfectly,  he  saw  no  reason  for  troubling  themselves 
about  the  original  intention  of  the  artist.  Then  a  good  deal  was 
said  about  Winckelmann,  and  then — there  was  no  help  for  it ! — 
they  moved  away,  accompanied  by  Count  Waldegrave. 

It  seemed  to  Mrs.  Falconer  a  necessity  of  the  position  that  she 
should  take  charge  of  this  undesired  addition  to  the  party.  She 
was  too  uncertain  of  Ir£ne,  to  allow  him  to  attach  himself  to  her 
— and,  indeed,  he  evinced  no  desire  of  the  kind.  So,  talking,  it  is 
safe  to  say,  with  less  thought  and  more  incoherence  than  she 
ever  before  displayed,  she  walked  on  with  him  through  the  spa- 
cious rooms,  leaving  Irene  and  Erne  to  follow. 

For  once  the  latter  would  have  preferred  a  different  arrange- 
ment. He  was  eager  for  an  explanation  which  he  felt  it  impos- 
sible to  ask  of  Irene.  He  had  never  heard  her  allude  in  the  most 
remote  manner  to  her  father's  name  or  existence,  and  it  was 
therefore  out  of  the  question  for  him  to  make  any  allusion  of 
the  kind.  An  expression  of  surprise  with  regard  to  the  intro- 
duction would  undoubtedly  he  such  an  allusion ;  therefore  they 
walked  in  silence  for  several  minutes,  until  she  spoke. 

"No  doubt  you  think  this  very  strange  on  Mrs.  Falconer's 
part,"  she  said;  "so  I  feel  as  if  I  ought  to  tell  yon  that  she 
did  not  introduce  Count  Waldegrave  without  my  consent.  We 
talked  of  the  matter  the  other  day;  and  I  told  her  to  do 
so." 

Erne's  surprise  was  not  lessened  by  this  statement,  and,  after 
a  short  pause,  he  said :  "  I  have  seldom  been  more  amazed.  I 
was  aware  that  Count  Waldegrave  was  in  Rome;  but  I  could 
never  have  imagined — " 

"  That  he  would  desire  to  know  me  ? "  she  said,  as  he  stopped. 
"  It  is  certainly  amazing.  But  you  understand,  of  course,  that  he 
does  not  suspect  who  I  am.  Otherwise,  I  should  not  have  thought 
of  consenting  to  know  him." 

He  looked  at  her  in  astonishment,  which  seemed  to  ascend 
from  comparative  to  superlative  degree. 

"  I  confess  that  I  do  not  understand,"  he  said.  "  How  can  you 
be  sure  that  he  does  not — suspect?  And  even  if  he  does  not,  an 
accident  may  at  any  time  reveal  your  identity  to  him." 

"  There  is  no  accident  probable — I  may  say  possible — except 


218  EEAET  OF  STEEL. 

the  indiscretion  of  some  of  my  friends,"  she  replied.     "  And  they 
are  not  so  many  that  I  can  not  feel  safe  on  that  point." 

"You  may  assuredly  feel  safe  with  regard  to  one  of  them," 
he  said.  "  But  you  must  pardon  me  if  I  say  that  I  think  you  are 
making  a  mistake." 

"  You  have  always  been  so  kind  that  I  do  not  mind  your  say- 
ing it,"  she  answered,  quietly.  "  It  is,  however,  a  matter  of  which 
no  one  can  judge  except  myself.  But  we  are  moving  too  fast 
through  so  much  beauty.  See  !  is  not  this  the  Antinous  crowned 
with  lotus,  which  "Winckelmann  declares  to  be,  '  after  the  Apollo 
and  the  Laocoon,  the  most  beautiful  monument  of  antiquity  which 
time  has  transmitted  to  us  '  ?  " 

She  walked  up  to  the  chimney-piece  as  she  spoke,  and  stood  for 
several  minutes  before  the  famous  relievo.  Erne,  as  he  watched 
her,  was  struck  with  something  of  resemblance  between  her  face 
and  that  of  the  marble.  The  brows  of  Antinous  are  slightly  knit- 
ted, as  if  with  thought  or  pain,  and  so  were  hers,  while  in  both 
faces  the  severe  intellectual  beauty  of  the  Greek  type  was  soft- 
ened by  the  charm  of  youth. 

Presently  she  turned  to  him.  "  Why  are  you  not  a  sculptor  ?  " 
she  asked.  "  It  seems  to  me  that  of  all  forms  of  art  none  is  so 
glorious  as  this — to  put  one's  conceptions  into  imperishable  mar- 
ble that  after  the  lapse  of  hundreds  of  centuries  shall  still  give  de- 
light to  myriads  !  What  can  be  greater  than  that  ? " 

"  But  you  forget  that  such  sculpture  as  this  is  a  lost  art,"  ho 
answered,  "  though  I  confess  that  I  have  been  saying  much  the 
same  thing  to  myself.  I  have  dabbled  in  clay  as  well  as  in  paint 
in  my  time,  and  I  will  go  back  to  the  clay  to-morrow  if  you  will 
let  me  model  your  head.  I  might  hope  to  rival  the  Antinous  then, 
perhaps." 

Her  straight,  dark  brows  drew  closer  together.  "I  did  not 
think  you  would  turn  what  I  said  into  a  foolish  compliment," 
she  remarked,  with  severity. 

"  It  is  not  a  foolish  compliment,"  he  replied.  "  I  am  in  earnest. 
Artist  after  some  fashion  I  am,  but  the  divine  spark  has  never 
yet  been  successfully  brought  out  of  me.  If  you  will  give  me  a 
chance — " 

"  My  dear  Lionel " — it  was  Mrs.  Falconer's  voice  half  laughing 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  219 

behind  him — "  what  chance  are  you  demanding  from  fortune  or 
Miss  Lescar  ? " 

"  From  Miss  Lescar  rather  than  from  fortune,"  he  answered  ; 
and,  as  he  turned,  he  met  the  glance  of  Count  Waldegrave.  "  I 
have  been  asking  her  to  allow  me  to  model  her  head — as  a  prep- 
aration for  becoming  the  rival  of  Praxiteles." 

"  And  she—  ?  " 

"  Has  begged  him  not  to  be  foolish,"  said  Irene,  with  a  slight 
touch  of  unconscious  scorn. 

It  did  not  misbecome  her,  "Waldegrave  thought.  She  looked 
like  a  disdainful  young  princess  as  she  stood  a  moment  longer, 
then,  turning,  moved  away. 

It  was  finally  in  the  garden,  on  the  terrace  whence  one  looks 
afar  over  the  swelling  ridges  of  the  Campagna  to  the  beautiful 
outlines  and  tints  of  the  Sabine  Mountains,  to  Monte  Gennaro 
lifting  his  stately  crest  with  the  Monticelli  beneath,  and  at  the 
picturesque  churches  of  Sant  'Agnese  and  Santa  Costanza  in  the 
middle  distance,  that  he  found  an  opportunity  to  speak  to  her. 
Some  acquaintances  of  Mrs.  Falconer  again  joined  them,  and  Irene, 
walking  a  little  apart,  stood  by  the  marble  balustrade  with  her 
eyes  fixed  on  the  heights  where  such  exquisite  lights  and  shades 
were  chasing  each  other. 

Her  attitude  recalled  to  "Waldegrave  the  first  time  that  he  saw 
her,  on  the  terrace  of  the  Villa  Mattei.  But  the  similarity,  if  he 
had  known  it,  was  only  outward  :  it  would  be  difficult  to  imagine 
two  states  of  mind,  two  strains  of  feeling,  more  different  than  hers 
on  that  occasion  and  on  the  present.  Then  even  the  sadness  of 
grief  had  been  tempered  by  a  sense  of  peace — the  exquisite  peace 
breathed  by  nature  and  taught  by  faith  :  now  a  hot  strife  of  in- 
ward passion  was  shaking  her  soul  to  its  center.  The  old  bitter 
memory  of  wrong,  the  old  passionate  sense  of  antagonism  rose 
within  her.  The  recollection  of  her  mother  at  this  moment  was 
like  fire  near  a  burn.  She  could  hardly  endure  to  think  that  she 
had  consented  to  know  one  who  stood  so  near  to,  who  was  in  fact 
the  representative  of,  the  man  who  had  inflicted  such  ineffaceable 
injury  upon  that  ardently  loved  mother. 

It  may  seem  strange  that  the  sound  of  Waldegrave's  voice 
finally  steadied  if  it  did  not  cool  her.  But  in  some  natures  the 


220  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

necessity  is  one  with  the  power  of  self-control.  Irene  felt  that 
she  could  do  anything  sooner  than  betray  what  influence  this 
presence  had  upon  her.  Every  nerve  was  strung  to  its  highest 
tension  when  she  turned  and  looked  at  him  with  her  proud  and 
brilliant  glance. 

"  I  am  reminded,  Miss  Lescar,  of  the  first  time  I  saw  you,"  he 
said.  "Do  you  remember  an  afternoon  not  long  ago  when  you 
stood  on  the  terrace  of  the  Villa  Mattei  and  looked  out  over  the 
Campagna  toward  the  Alban  Hills? " 

She  regarded  him  with  an  expression  of  surprise. 

"I  remember  it  very  well,"  she  answered.  "But  you  were 
not  there." 

"Pardon  me,  I  was  there — in  the  ilex  avenue  which  leads  to 
the  terrace.  It  was  a  mere  chance  which  took  me  there — but  I 
was  repaid." 

"It  is  a  beautiful  view,"  she  said,  quietly.  If  she  understood 
the  inference  of  his  words,  not  even  the  flicker  of  an  eyelash  be- 
trayed as  much. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  so  beautiful  that  I  have  been  back  twice 
since  that  afternoon.  It  is  an  unsociable  habit,  no  doubt,  but  I 
have  a  fancy  for  wandering  alone  about  the  antiquities  and  out- 
skirts of  Eome." 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  involuntarily,  "  that  is  what  I  should  like.  I 
am  often  ashamed  to  feel  how  I  long  to  be  alone.  It  is  not,"  she 
added,  quickly,  "  that  I  have  not  the  most  intelligent  and  sympa- 
thetic companions;  but  where  there  is  so  much  to  realize— so 
much  to  :neditate  upon — one  must  desire  solitude." 

"  In  Rome — which  is  so  full  of  august  memories,  and  where 
the  very  dust,  as  Chateaubriand  said,  bears  with  it  something 
of  human  grandeur — I  think  one  must.  Though  it  is  an  un- 
usual desire  for  one  of  your  age  and  sex,"  ho  added,  smiling 
slightly. 

Perhaps  the  smile  irritated  Irene,  who  was  ready  to  read  all 
that  he  said  or  did  in  an  evil  light.  At  all  events,  her  face  changed, 
as  that  of  one  who  regrets  having  spoken  too  impulsively,  and  she 
looked  away  again  toward  the  distant  hills. 

"I  am  not  aware  that  either  age  or  sex  has  anything  to  do 
with  appreciating  what  is  great,"  she  said,  coldly. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  221 

"  Certainly  not,"  replied  Waldegrave  ;  "  I  only  spoke  of  the 
desire  for  solitude.  You  must  admit  that  to  be  unusual." 

"I  know  too  little  of  how  others  feel,  to  admit  or  deny  it," 
she  answered.  "  I  only  know  what  I  feel  myself." 

A  pause  followed.  For  once  in  his  life  Waldegrave  was  at  a 
loss  how  to  proceed.  Nothing  is  more  discouraging  to  conver- 
sational effort  than  indifference ;  and  complete  indifference,  he 
felt,  was  here.  There  was  not  even  the  attempt  to  look  interested 
and  appear  agreeable,  which,  however  transparent  it  may  be,  is 
at  least  a  tribute  to  civility.  There  are  few  men  of  good  social 
rank  who  are  not  accustomed  to  expect  this ;  and  Waldegrave 
might  have  been  pardoned  if  he  had  expected  much  more.  But 
here  was  a  girl  who  looked  away  from  him  as  if  his  personal  and 
social  consequence  had  been  represented  by  a  cipher,  yet  who 
filled  him  with  a  desire,  as  strong  as  it  was  strange,  to  bring  her 
eyes  back  and  wake  in  them  a  light  of  interest  and  sympathy. 

At  length  he  spoke.  u  You  have  been  long  in  Rome  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  Only  during  the  winter,"  she  answered. 

"  And  I  have  been  absent  during  most  of  the  winter — which 
accounts,  no  doubt,  for  the  fact  that  I  first  had  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  you  only  a  few  days  ago,  on  the  terrace  of  the  Villa 
Mattei." 

"You  are  mistaken,"  she  said,  with  slight  hauteur.  "I  have 
not  been  going  out  at  all.  No  one  has  seen  me — unless  by  an  ac- 
cident I  could  not  prevent." 

The  inference  of  her  tone  was  unmistakable.  "  If  I  could 
have  prevented  it,  you  would  not  have  seen  me,"  it  said.  Ir&ne 
scarcely  knew  herself  how  much  of  her  inner  feeling  her  manner 
expressed  ;  while  Waldegrave  was  conscious  of  the  same  surprise 
he  had  felt  with  regard  to  Mrs.  Falconer,  at  this  apparently  cause- 
less rebuff.  It  appeared  to  him  altogether  inexplicable.  He  might 
have  imagined  it  to  proceed  from  lack  of  breeding  in  any  one  else 
— but  there  was  something  about  this  girl  which  forbade  such  a 
supposition,  and  brought  to  his  mind  again  the  thought  of  a  dis- 
dainful princess.  "  How  have  I  possibly  offended  her  ?  "  he  asked 
himself  with  a  half-humorous  sense  of  astonishment ;  and,  while 
he  did  so,  she  suddenly  looked  at  him. 


222  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"When  one_has  a  great  grief  for  companion,"  sho  said,  "no 
seclusion  can  be  too  great  for  one." 

What  was  it  in  her  voice  or  glance  which  made  Waldegrave 
feel  all  the  depth  of  meaning  in  these  simple  words  ?  Some  peo- 
ple have  this  rare  gift  of  expression.  It  was  at  once  an  explana- 
tion and  an  apology  which  the  beautiful,  candid  eyes  made.  "Af- 
ter all,  it  is  not  his  fault,"  the  girl  had  said  to  herself.  As  for 
Waldegrave,  it  was  with  a  quick  sense  of  sympathy  that  he  re- 
ceived the  amende.  As  long  as  men  are  men,  such  sympathy  will 
be  evoked  more  readily  by  youth  and  beauty  than  by  any  cor- 
responding degree  of  distress  in  age  and  ugliness. 

Whether  or  not  the  conversation  would  have  proceeded  more 
smoothly  after  this,  can  only  be  left  to  conjecture,  for  at  this  mo- 
ment Mrs.  Falconer — who  had  been  watching  it  from  afar,  herself 
the  while  on  thorns — now  managed  to  disengage  herself  from  her 
friends  and  came  toward  them. 

"  It  is  time  for  us  to  go,  Irdne,"  she  said.  "  The  sun  is  low, 
and  I  never  like  to  be  out  after  it  has  set. — A  great  deal,  in  the 
matter  of  health,  depends  in  this  climate  on  observing  such  rules," 
she  added,  turning  to  Waldegrave. 

He  replied  that  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  it ;  that  many  fatal 
illnesses  among  foreigners  resulted  from  not  observing  them. 
Then  he  walked  with  her  to  the  gate — Erne  at  once  seizing  the 
opportunity  to  rejoin  Irdne — and,  by  the  time  they  reached  it,  she 
felt  that  there  was  no  possible  escape  in  civility  from  telling  him 
that  she  was  always  at  home  on  Thursday  evening,  and  would  be 
happy  to  see  him. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

IT  was  with  a  humiliating  sense  of  having  been  thoroughly 
defeated  that  Mrs.  Falconer  leaned  back  in  her  carriage  and  was 
driven  into  Rome.  If  she  had  been  alone  with  Irene,  she  would 
have  asked  the  subject  of  her  conversation  with  Waldegrave,  and 
perhaps  expressed  some  of  the  serious  misgivings  which  she  felt; 
but  this  was  impossible  with  Erne  on  the  seat  before  them ;  so 
there  was  little  said — and  that  of  a  commonplace  nature — during 
the  drive. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  223 

"When  they  reached  the  familiar  portone,  Erne  handed  them 
oat  of  the  carriage,  but  declined  his  cousin's  not  very  pressing 
invitation  to  enter.  ."  I  have  an  engagement  to  dine  with  some 
men,"  he  said. 

"  It  is  as  well  that  he  did  not  come  in,"  remarked  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner to  her  companion,  as  they  ascended  the  stairs.  "I  don't 
know  how  you  may  be,  but  I  am  tired  and  stupid. — What  is  it, 
Antonio  ?  " 

A  signer  in  the  drawing-room  who  had  asked  for  the  signora, 
and  was  now  talking  to  Mrs.  Vance,  Antonio  replied. — The  signora 
frowned.  "  I  do  not  feel  like  seeing  any  one,"  she  said,  "  and  I 
can  not  imagine  who  it  is." 

Nevertheless,  she  opened  the  drawing-room  door,  while  Ir&ne 
passed  on.  The  apartment  was  filled  with  a  glow  of  sunset  light 
which  for  an  instant  dazzled  her  vision  so  that  she  could  only 
perceive  that  a  dark  figure  rose  quickly  and  advanced  toward  her. 
It  was  not  until  her  hand  was  taken  in  a  close  clasp  that  she  saw 
clearly  who  was  before  her,  and  said,  in  a  tone  which  savored 
more  of  indignation  than  welcome: 

"  So,  Mr.  Stanhope,  you  have  come  at  last !  " 

"  At  last !  "  repeated  Stanhope,  laughing.  "  How  kind  of  you 
to  say  that !  I  fancied  that  I  should  hear,  '  Pray,  Mr.  Stanhope, 
why  have  you  come'  so  soon  ? '  " 

"There  was  certainly  reason  to  fancy  it,"  she  replied,  drawing 
her  hand  out  of  his  and  walking  to  a  chair.  " '  I  shall  be  in 
Rome  in  a  month  or  two,'  you  said,  when  we  parted  in  Paris.  I 
believe  four  months  have  elapsed  since  then.  However,  it  does 
not  matter.  I  have  always  observed  that  people  are  sure  to  come 
the  day  after  they  are  wanted." 

"  But  what  is  the  matter  ? "  he  asked,  in  surprise — and,  as  he 
followed  her,  Mrs.  Vance  rose  and  discreetly  withdrew.  "  If  I 
had  had  the  least  idea  that  yon  wanted  me — " 

"  I  was  likely  to  telegraph  to  the  Atlas  Mountains !  "  said  she, 
with  undiminished  asperity.  Then  suddenly  she  broke  into  a 
smile.  "Forgive  me,"  she  said.  "I  am  horridly  cross.  But  I 
have  wanted  you  so  much  ;  and  now  you  have  come— too  late." 

"  Too  late — for  what  ?  "  he  asked,  fairly  turning  pale,  as  far 
as  was  possible  through  a  very  bronzed  upper  surface. 


224  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"  To  be  of  use  in  a  matter  that  seriously  concerns  Irene." 

"  Oh — Irene !  "  and  unaccountably  his  face  seemed  to  clear. 
"  I  thought  it  might  have  been —  And  what  has  Irene  been 
doing  ?  Not  falling  in  love  with  Lionel  Erne,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  By  no  means.  She  is  a  strange  girl — I  doubt  if  she  will  ever 
fall  in  love  at  all." 

"  Tant  mieux  pour  lui!  "  said  he  ;  and,  drawing  a  chair  imme- 
diately in  front  of  the  one  in  which  she  had  placed  herself,  he  sat 
down.  "Before  we  discuss  Irene,"  he  went  on  then,  "let  me  say 
how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  again.  I  feel  like  a  way-worn  traveler 
who  has  reached  the  most  delightful  haven." 

"And  received  the  most  delightful  welcome,"  said  she,  with 
another  smile.  Now  that  the  first  shock  of  surprise  was  over,  the 
first  emotion  of  indignation,  she  felt  that  she  was  very  glad  to  see 
him.  There  was  no  one  in  the  world  with  whom  she  was  BO 
much  at  ease — with  whom  she  had  such  a  sense  of  certain  com- 
prehension and  sympathy — as  with  Stanhope.  He  had  a  way  of 
regarding  things  which  she  always  felt  to  be  the  right  way ;  and, 
though  nobody  flattered  her  less,  she  felt  instinctively  that  nobody 
admired  her  more.  The  sight  of  his  face,  the  half-kindly,  half- 
sarcastic  look  in  his  eyes,  the  ring  of  his  voice,  the  sense  of 
reliance  which  he  inspired,  were  all  pleasant  to  her  with  the 
pleasantness  of  things  tried  and  familiar. 

"  It  might  have  been  worse,"  said  he,  smiling  also.  "  To  hear 
that  one  has  been  wanted,  is  better  than  to  realize  that  one  has 
not  been  thought  of." 

"You  would  not  be  flattered  if  you  could  know  how  I  have 
thought  of  you  lately." 

"  Have  you  anathematized  me  ?  But  how  could  I  imagine  that 
I  was  needed  when  I  had  not  received  a  hint  to  that  effect  ?  " 

"There  has  not  been  time  to  give  you  a  hint.  Besides,  I 
thought  you  were  probably  en  route  to  the  interior  of  Africa. 
But,  I  will  tell  you  the  whole  story,  and  you  shall  say  what  you 
would  have  done  had  you  been  here." 

The  story  was  told,  and  listened  to  with  the  greatest 
attention.  Because  he  had  for  a  moment  waived  the  subject 
of  Irene,  it  did  not  follow  that  Stanhope's  interest  in  her  was 
not  keen.  He  made  no  comment  until  Mrs.  Falconer  brought 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  225 

her  narrative  down  to  the  events  of  that  afternoon,  when  he 
said: 

"  You  have  made  one  mistake.  After  you  saw  that  the  meet- 
ing was  inevitable,  you  should  have  told  Count  Waldegrave  who 
Irene  is." 

"  But  she  desires  above  all  things  that  he  should  not  know." 

"  What  she  desires  is  of  no  importance  compared  to  what  is 
right.  Why  she  has  consented  to  meet  him  I  do  not  understand. 
But  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  an  explanation  was  due  to  him 
before  the  introduction  took  place." 

"  In  that  case,  it  would  have  been  better  not  to  have  allowed 
an  introduction." 

"  Of  course,  it  would  have  been  better.  Had  I  been  here,  I 
should  have  advised  you  not  to  take  it  into  consideration  for  a  mo- 
ment." 

"  You  see  how  right  I  was  in  wishing  for  you,"  she  said  in  a 
tone  of  self-vexation.  "I  knew  that  whatever  I  decided  upon 
would  be  wrong." 

"  You  had  no  reason  to  think  so,"  said  he,  quickly.  "  I  know 
of  no  one  on  whose  judgment  I  would  sooner  rely — but  we  are  all 
liable  to  mistakes.  I  blame  myself  for  having  thrown  such  a  de- 
cision upon  you.  If  I  could  have  anticipated  the  chance  arising,  I 
should  never  have  remained  away." 

"No  one  could  have  anticipated  it,"  she  said.  "Who  could 
have  imagined  Prince  Waldegrave's  nephew  brought  into  contact 
with  Irene!  But,  I  know  what  I  will  do,"  she  added,  with  an 
air  of  resolution — "  I  will  leave  Rome." 

"  You  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  Stanhope,  decidedly. 
Then  he  smiled  at  his  own  tone,  and  the  expression  of  her  face. 
"Pardon  me,"  he  said.  "I  only  mean  that  I  can  not  permit  the 
responsibility,  which  it  is  my  fault  you  undertook,  to  become  such 
an  annoyance  to  you  that  it  leads  to  overturning  your  plans  and 
changing  your  residence." 

"Annoyance  is  too  strong  a  -word;  it  is  not  that." 

"  It  is  distinctly  that — however  willingly  met,  or  cheerfully 
borne.  If  you  leave  Rome  for  such  a  reason,  I  shall  regret  that  I 
did  not  place  Irene  in  a  convent,  instead  of  allowing  you  to  take 
charge  of  her." 


226  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"  You  forget  that  it  was  not  entirely  a  matter  for  your  arrange- 
ment— that  /promised  Madame  Lescar." 

"Nevertheless,  the  power  to  appoint  her  home  was  and  is 
absolutely  mine ;  and  I  am  responsible  for  any  trouble  she  may 
cause  you." 

"  I  never  knew  you  so  imperious  before,  Mr.  Stanhope.  How- 
ever, we  need  not  quarrel,  for  I  am  willing  to  do  whatever  you 
wish  with  regard  to  her.  Only  tell  me  what  it  is." 

"  It  is  easily  told,  for  it  is  comprised  within  one  word — nothing. 
Stay  just  where  you  are ;  do  just  what  you  are  doing." 

«  But — Count  Waldegrave  ?  " 

"  Count  Waldegrave  will  not  give  any  trouble.  It  was  a  mistake 
to  permit  him  to  make  Irene's  acquaintance  without  telling  him 
who  she  is ;  but,  since  it  has  been  done,  we  will  let  the  matter 
rest,  unless  he  shows  signs  of  continued  interest  in  her.  In  that 
case  he  must  be  told." 

"I  am  glad  that  you  will  be  here  to  tell  him,"  she  said,  with 
an  air  of  relief. 

"  I  am  glad  to  be  here — for  other  reasons."  He  looked  around 
the  salon.  "How  charmingly  you  are  settled!  "  he  said.  "This 
is  as  pleasant  as  your  apartment  in  Paris.  Apropos,  one  of  your 
Parisian  friends  arrived  in  Rome  with  me  to-day." 

"I  suppose  you  mean  M.  de  Chateaumesnil,"  she  said.  "I 
know  yon  have  been  together  in  Algiers." 

"Yes,  and  the  best  of  comrades  I  have  found  him  this  win- 
ter, as  heretofore.  I  have  little  fancy  for  Frenchmen  in  general, 
but  if  one  finds  the  highest  type  of  French  gentleman,  he  is  de- 
lightful." 

"As  delightful  as  the  French  "bourgeois  is  detestable.  But" — 
she  rose — "  I  am  forgetting  that  you  have  not  seen  Irdne." 

"  Don't  send  for  her,"  said  he,  rising  also.  "  If  you  have  no 
engagement  for  this  evening,  perhaps  you  will  let  me  come  back 
after  dinner." 

"I  have  no  engagement;  but  will  you  not  dine  with  us? " 

"  I  am  sorry  that  I  can  not.  I  promised  the  Marquis  that  we 
would  dine  together.  Afterward,  with  your  permission,  we  will 
have  the  pleasure  of  paying  our  respects  to  you." 

Then  he  left,  and  Mrs.  Falconer  went  to  her  room.     If  she 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  227 

was  still  tired  and  stupid,  as  she  had  declared  herself  on  her 
return  from  the  Villa  Albani,  there  was  no  sign  of  it  in  her 
appearance.  Indeed,  there  was,  instead,  an  unusual  brightness, 
which  made  Mathilde  exclaim,  when  her  toilet  was  completed, 
that  she  had  never  seen  madame  look  better. 

At  dinner  IrSne  heard  of  Stanhope's  arrival  and  expressed  her 
gratification.  If  she  felt  any  surprise  that  she  had  not  been  sum- 
moned to  see  him,  she  did  not  express  that.  Probably  she  sus- 
pected what  had  been  the  topic  of  conversation  between  her  two 
guardians.  However  this  might  be,  no  allusion  was  made  to  Count 
Waldegrave  by  herself  or  Mrs.  Falconer.  It  was  plainly  a  subject 
which,  for  the  present,  at  least,  was  to  be  ignored. 

When  they  were  in  the  drawing-room  after  dinner,  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner said,  "  A  gentleman  is  coming  with  Mr.  Stanhope  whom 
you  met  once,  though  you  may  have  forgotten  him — the  Marquis 
de  Chateaumesnil." 

Irene  looked  up  with  a  quick  glance  of  interest. 

"  I  have  not  met  so  many  people  in  my  life  that  I  could  forget 
such  a  person  as  the  Marquis  de  Chateaumesnil,"  she  said.  "  It 
was  at  the  Chapelle  Expiatoire.  I  remember  him  well — his  high- 
bred face,  his  dark,  deep  eyes,  and  how  he  looked  as  if  he  had 
stepped  out  of  the  old  court-life  at  Versailles." 

"I  see  that  you  remember  him,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  smiling, 
while  she  thought  that  the  imaginative  temperament  was  calcu- 
lated to  mislead  the  unimaginative.  Prosaic  people — especially 
if  they  be  vulgar  as  well— are  not  able  to  comprehend  enthusiasm 
without  a  personal  meaning ;  and  the  most  directly  personal  mean- 
ing to  which  their  minds  leap,  is  that  of  love.  Such  a  person 
would  probably  have  set  Irene  down  as  the  victim  of  a  romantic 
penchant  for  the  Marquis ;  but  Mrs.  Falconer  knew  that  her  in- 
terest in  him  was  exactly  of  a  kind  with  the  interest  she  might 
have  felt  in  the  Constable  Du  Guesclin.  The  fear,  which  had  once 
crossed  her  mind,  of  arousing  the  girl's  fancy  for  such  a  danger- 
ously attractive  person,  troubled  her  no  longer.  She  understood 
Irene  better  now. 

The  expected  visitors  were  soon  announced.  "  Le  Marquis  de 
Chateaumesnil  et  Monsieur  Stan-hope,"  said  Antonio — who  had 
a  fair  smattering  of  French — opening  the  door.  And  when  the 


228  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

two  gentlemen  entered,  Mrs.  Falconer  was  struck  by  the  fact 
that  the  Marquis  was  looking  remarkably  well.  His  clear-cut 
face  was  as  keen  and  refined  as  ever,  his  deep-set  eyes  as  dark  and 
brilliant,  his  manner  and  bearing  as  graceful  and  distinguished. 
But,  with  all  this,  there  was  an  undefinable  change  in  him.  Per- 
haps the  fresh  breezes  of  the  Atlas  Mountains  had  proved  more 
invigorating  than  those  which  blow  over  the  streets  of  Paris.  At 
least,  he  had  the  air  of  a  man  to  whom  some  new  and  bracing  in- 
fluence had  come— to  whom  life  offered  more  definite  meaning 
and  purpose  than  it  had  done  before. 

His  first  words  were  words  of  evidently  genuine  pleasure  and 
self-congratulation.  "  How  delighted  I  am  to  see  you  again, 
inadame — and  to  find  myself  at  last  in  Italy !  " 

"  You  speak  as  if  there  had  been  difficulty  in  finding  yourself 
in  Italy,"  she  said,  with  a  smile.  "Yet  the  Mediterranean  is  a 
navigable  sea." 

"  Sans  doute.  But  if  one  has  a  companion  who  is  procrasti- 
nating and  immovable  beyond  belief,  one  may  be  delayed  even  in 
crossing  the  Mediterranean." 

"  And  has  Mr.  Stanhope  proved  such  a  companion  ?  " 

"  Incredibly  so.  But  for  my  perseverance  and  determination 
to  depart,  I  am  sure  we  would  be  in  Algiers  now." 

"Ah!"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  with  a  glance  toward  Stanhope, 
who  was  speaking  to  Irene,  "  I  remarked  to  him  this  afternoon 
that  people  generally  appear  after  they  are  wanted." 

"He  has  been  wanted,  then?  " 

"  Oh,  not  very  much — only,  if  he  had  arrived  a  little  earlier,  I 
should  have  been  glad  of  his  advice  on  a  point  that  concerned  his 
ward.  You  remember  Mademoiselle  Lescar,  perhaps?  " 

"  Could  one  forget  Mademoiselle  Lescar  ?  "  asked  the  Marquis, 
with  a  look  of  admiration  at  the  beautiful  profile  presented  to  his 
view.  "I  remember  her  very  well,  and  I  remember,  also,  that 
one  of  the  pleasures  yon  promised  me  in  Italy  was  that  of  hear- 
ing her  sing." 

"I  am  sure  she  will  redeem  the  promise. — Irene" — the  girl 
turned— "let  me  recall  the  Marquis  de  Chateaumesnil  to  your 
recollection." 

"I  recall  M.  de  Chateaumesnil  perfectly,"  said  Irene,  while 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  229 

her  large,  clear  eyes  met  the  dark,  deep  ones  of  which  she  had 
spoken  ;  "  I  can  never  forget  the  day  I  met  him  at  the  Chapelle 
Expiatoire." 

"And  I  can  never  forget,"  said  the  Marquis,  "that  the  first 
words  I  heard  mademoiselle  speak  were  a  hope  that  the  king 
might  'have  his  own  again.'  " 

"Ah,  by  that  proof  I  see  that  you  really  rememher  me,"  said 
Irene,  with  a  smile. 

"  And  do  you  mean  that,  but  for  such  a  proof,  you  would  doubt 
the  fact  ?  "  he  asked,  smiling  also. 

"  I  should  think  it  likely  that  you  only  professed  to  remember 
out  of  courtesy,"  she  replied.  "  It  would  be  very  natural  if  you 
did — it  would  be  only  as  the  Persian  proverb  says,  '  The  moon 
looks  on  many  flowers,  the  flowers  see  but  one  moon.'  " 

"  And  the  application  of  the  proverb  is —  ?  " 

"The  application  is  that  you,  no  doubt,  see  many  young 
ladies,  while  I  have  seen  but  one  Marquis  de  Chateanmesnil,"  she 
replied,  still  smiling  with  what  he  thought  charming  frankness. 

"I  certainly  see  many  young  ladies,"  he  answered;  "but,  be- 
lieve me,  I  have  seen  but  one  Mademoiselle  Lescar." 

"  I  wonder  why  it  is,"  said  Irene,  turning  to  Mrs.  Falconer, 
"  that  one  should  be  so  much  flattered  by  the  imputation  of  origi- 
nality. It  would  seem  presumable  that  the  pattern  on  which 
the  majority  of  people  are  made  is  better  than  the  pattern  of 
one." 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  that  lady,  "  for  the  most  beautiful  things 
are  never  those  which  are  greatly  multiplied.  There  are  many 
more  vessels  of  delf  than  of  porcelain  in  the  world." 

"  But  there  is  more  need  for  delf  than  for  porcelain." 

"It  is  an  inferior  need,  however,"  said  Stanhope,  "though  a 
more  widely  extended  one.  And  there  is  no  danger  that  the  sup- 
ply of  delf  will  ever  fail.  To  drop  metaphor — which  is  always 
troublesome  and  frequently  inaccurate — the  common  type  of 
humanity  perpetuates  itself  without  trouble.  But  it  requires 
much  trouble,  in  the  form  of  hereditary  culture,  to  make  and 
preserve  a  type  which  shall  serve  for  the  finer  uses  of  existence." 

"  Therefore  porcelain  should  not  decry  itself,"  said  the  Mar- 
quis, looking  at  Irene. 


230  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  decry  anything,"  she  said.  "  I  was  think- 
ing more  of  originality  in  individuals  than  of  different  types." 

"  Oh,  originality  can  not  be  esteemed  too  highly,"  said  Stan- 
hope. "  It  is  what  preserves  the  world  from  degenerating  into 
the  abject  commonplace.  Even  eccentric  people  have  their  uses. 
As  Sir  Arthur  Helps  has  pointed  out  in  one  of  his  essays,  they 
resist  conformity,  they  rebel  against  conventional  decrees,  and  so 
'  make  broad  the  paths  of  freedom  '  for  us." 

"No  one  admires  originality  more  than  I  do,"  said  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner, "  but  I  really  think  I  must  draw  the  line  at  eccentricity. 
Perhaps  I  am  tinged  with  Philistinism ;  but  I  do  not  like  startling 
divergences  from  established  rules  and  customs." 

"Neither  do  I  consider  'startling  divergences'  admirable," 
said  Stanhope.  "  I  only  maintain  in  their  behalf  that  they  protect 
against  that  tyranny  of  the  conventionalities  which  unresisted 
grows  intolerable." 

"I  am  afraid  your  sojourn  in  Kabylia  has  not  been  very  good 
for  you,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  I  never  heard  you  declaiming 
against  conventionalities  before." 

"  I  am  not  declaiming  against  them  now,"  he  answered.  "  They 
are  very  good  things  in  their  way.  But  I  object  to  any  form  of 
tyranny.  And  there  are  worse  places  in  the  world  than  Kabylia," 
said  he,  rising  suddenly,  as  if  he  was  about  to  start  back  there. 

He  only  strolled  toward  the  piano,  however,  and  asked  Irene 
if  she  would  sing.  As  usual,  she  assented  with  the  utmost  readi- 
ness, and  followed  him  to  the  instrument.  "What  should  you 
like  to  hear  ?  "  she  asked  as  she  seated  herself. 

"Whatever  you  choose  to  give  me,"  he  answered,  looking 
down  at  her  and  thinking  how  beautiful  she  was,  and  how  much 
she  had  matured  since  he  saw  her  last. 

She  hesitated  an  instant;  then,  saying  with  a  smile,  "Perhaps 
this  will  suit  your  frame  of  mind,"  she  began  one  of  the  wild 
stornelli  which  she  had  caught  up  since  she  had  been  in  Eome. 
Simple  as  these  airs  are,  there  are  the  directness  and  force  of  prim- 
itive passion  in  them.  All  the  life  of  the  people  finds  expression 
— the  fiery  love,  the  passionate  sorrow,  the  poetry  innate  in  every 
Italian  peasant,  which  breaks  forth  now  and  then  into  the  impro- 
visatore;  the  glad,  free,  out-door  life  of  the  South,  the  dancing 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  231 

feet,  tlie  tinkling  music,  the  murmur  of  fountains,  all  is  told  in 
the  strains  that  have  passed  from  lip  to  lip— who  can  say  for  how 
long?  They  suggest  the  wide  freedom  of  the  Campagna,  its  wind- 
swept space  and  girdling  hills,  as  the  barcarolles  suggest  the  hlue 
sea  of  Naples  or  the  green  canals  of  Venice. 

And,  in  this  instance,  whatever  the  song  itself  may  have 
lacked,  the  singer  put  into  it.  The  girl  seemed  throwing  all  her 
wealth  of  feeling  into  the  wild,  monotonous  cadences,  and  giving 
them  a  meaning  as  direct  and  personal  as  the  appeal  of  passion 
itself.  When  she  ceased  she  looked  up  at  Stanhope  with  a  smile. 

"Was  that  unconventional  enough  for  you? "  she  asked. 

"It  suited  me  exactly,"  he  replied.  "But  what  a  voice  yon 
have !  Its  notes  are  like  those  of  a  violoncello.  And  you  siug  as 
if  you  felt — more  than  I  hope  you  do." 

"  You  think  that  feeling  is  a  misfortune  ? "  she  asked,  with 
something  wistful  in  her  upward  glance. 

"Much  of  it  undoubtedly  is,"  he  replied;  "and  indeed  there 
is  more  than  a  grain  of  truth  in  what  cynical  people  declare — that 
to  be  thoroughly  comfortable  one  should  have  none." 

"  I  should  be  sorry  to  buy  comfort  at  such  a  price,"  she  said, 
letting  her  hands  fall  into  her  lap  and  still  looking  up  at  him. 
"  Why,  there  could  be  no  such  thing  as  devotion  or  sacrifice,  or 
anything  great  and  noble,  without  the  power  that  deep  feeling 
gives!  Religion,  patriotism,  the  pursuit  of  any  high  ideal,  all 
rest  on  that — do  they  not?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered.  "  It  is  the  strongest  force  in  the  world. 
'  The  greatest  of  these  is  charity.'  Yet  what  I  have  said  is  none 
the  less  true :  intensity  of  feeling  is  a  source  of  pain  rather  than 
of  happiness." 

"I  believe  it,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  " But  it  is  a  pain  one 
would  not  relinquish  for  any  selfish  happiness." 

"  I  hope  you  may  always  think  so,"  he  said.  "  I  confess  that 
I-" 

He  broke  off  abruptly,  and  at  that  moment  Mrs.  Falconer 
spoke  from  the  other  side  of  the  room. 

"  Irene,"  she  said,  "will  you  sing  '  Che  faro  senza  Euridice^ 
for  the  Marquis  ?  " 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  Irene  hesitated  according  to  the 


232  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

ordinary  manner  of  singers,  but  not  for  the  ordinary  reason. 
Mrs.  Falconer's  request — the  name  of  the  song  she  was  asked  to 
sing — brought  before  her  with  startling  distinctness  the  scene  in 
the  Villa  Albani,  when  she  had  turned  from  the  Orpheus  and 
Eurydice  bas-relief,  to  meet  the  eyes  of  the  man  who  was  at  once 
her  cousin  and  her  foe.  Those  eyes  seemed  looking  at  her  again. 
She  shuddered  slightly. 

"  I  can  not  sing  that  to-night,"  she  said.  "  Is  there  not  some- 
thing else  that  M.  de  Chateaumesnil  would  like  to  hear  ? " 

"I  shall  be  charmed  to  hear  anything  that  you  will  give, 
mademoiselle,"  said  the  Marquis,  answering  for  himself.  "  The 
stornello  was  delightful." 

"  Then  you  shall  have  another,"  she  said.  "  "\Ye  will  welcome 
you  to  Italy  with  Italy's  own  music." 

And  so  she  sang  song  after  song — all  the  melodies  that  spring 
from  the  people,  and  that  a  great  composer  takes  now  and  then 
and  weaves  into  elaborate  harmony  and  puts  on  the  stage,  to 
bring  to  dress-circles  and  court-boxes  a  whisper  of  the  freshness 
of  nature — of  festas  when  the  soft-eyed  oxen  are  wreathed  with 
flowers ;  of  vines  hanging  with  grapes ;  of  laughing  seas,  and  the 
fishermen  singing  as  they  haul  in  their  great  nets  on  the  shining 
beach ;  of  the  life  of  the  shepherds,  who  with  their  flocks  roam 
the  great  plain  where  buried  cities  lie ;  and  of  the  mighty  hills 
where  torrents  leap  and  flowers  bloom,  and  the  tide  of  modern 
discontent  has  not  yet  swept  away  the  pastoral  life,  nor  torn 
down  the  way-side  shrine  to  erect  a  statue  to  Mammon. 

The  Marquis  was  enchanted.  To  the  blase  man  of  the  world 
there  was  a  freshness  in  this  that  was  delightful,  and  that  gained 
charm  from  the  speaking  face  of  the  singer.  He  would  have  been 
prepared  to  give  graceful,  measured  applause  to  an  aria  such  as  he 
had  expected  to  hear;  but  this  wild  music,  with  its  thousand  sug- 
gestions and  the  pulse  of  passion  beating  through  it,  rendered  by 
a  voice  with  magnetism  enough  to  thrill  a  host,  was  a  revelation 
to  him. 

"  Ma  foi  !  it  is  not  singing — it  is  inspiration  !  "  he  exclaimed 
at  last.  "  Mademoiselle,  listening  to  you  is  like  looking  at  one  of 
Leopold  Robert's  pictures — you  bring  before  one  the  scenes,  the 
very  atmosphere,  of  Italy !  " 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  233 

"  Herd,  monsieur,"  said  the  girl,  looking  at  him  with  eyes 
that,  were  shining  with  a  light  which  seemed  like  that  of  inspi- 
ration. "You  are  too  kind;  but  it  is  all  so  vividly  present  to 
me  as  I  sing,  that  I  could  hardly  fail  to  impress  others  a  little. 
Then  I  love  Italy  so  much — the  real  Italy  I  mean,  not  the  spuri- 
ous Italy  of  the  revolution." 

"  Who  does  not  love  that  Italy  ?  "  he  asked. 

"But  with  most  people — who  are  not  Italians — it  comes  after 
their  own  country,"  she  said.  "I  have  no  country  to  put  before 
it.  Italy  is  all  to  me." 

"I  thought — I  fancied — that  you  were  American,"  he  said,  a 
little  surprised. 

"  I  was  not  born  in  America,"  she  replied,  "  nor  do  I  know 
much  of  it,  except  through  the  kind  friends  it  has  sent  into  my 
life,"  she  added,  with  a  comprehensive  glance  and  a  sweet  smile 
toward  Mrs.  Falconer  and  Stanhope. 

The  Marquis  was  too  well  bred_  to  ask  any  question,  but  that 
the  chance  remark  made  an  impression*  upon  him  was  apparent 
when  Stanhope  and  himself  took  leave.  They  hardly  found 
themselves  in  the  street  before  he  said : 

"  I  have  seldom  seen  a  more  striking  person  than  Mademoiselle 
Lescar.  It  is  not  only  her  beauty  which  makes  her  remarka- 
ble— there  is  that  in  her  face  and  in  her  voice  which  is  beyond 
beauty." 

"  Yet  which  derives  much  from  it,"  said  Stanhope,  who  had 
lighted  a  cigar  and  was  puffing  vigorously.  "  She  is  certainly  a 
very  striking  person ;  no  one  is  more  thoroughly  aware  of  it  than 
I  am." 

"  A  fascinating  person  she  might  easily  prove,"  said  the 
Marquis.  Then,  after  a  brief  pause,  "May  I  ask  who  she 
is?" 

"  Who  she  is  !  "  repeated  Stanhope,  a  little  startled  by  the  un- 
expectedness of  the  question.  He  took  his  cigar  from  his  lips  and 
glanced  at  his  companion  by  the  light  of  a  street-lamp.  "I 
thought  you  knew  that  she  is  the  daughter  of  an  old  Mend  of 
Mrs.  Falconer's  and  my  own." 

"  So  I  heard  ;  but — pardon  me  if  I  am  indiscreet ! — there  is 
something  about  her  that  suggests  unusual  parentage.  She  not 


234  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

only  has  the  air  nolle  in  marked  degree,  bnt  there  is  a  brilliance, 
a  charm — " 

"  If  you  had  seen  her  mother,"  said  Stanhope,  quietly,  as  the 
other  paused,  "  you  would  have  seen  a  queen  among  women — one 
from  whom  the  daughter  has  inherited  almost  all  that  seems  to 
you  so  remarkable." 

"And  the  father,"  said  the  Marquis ;  "was  he  also  remark- 
able?" 

"  Very,"  replied  Stanhope,  dryly.  "  A  man  of  great  ability, 
though  lacking  in  principle." 

"Ah !  "  was  the  expressive  response.  They  walked  on  in  si- 
lence for  a  moment ;  then,  as  they  were  descending  the  Trinita 
de'  Monti  steps,  the  Marquis  said  slowly,  "  It  is  a  pity  if  there  is 
a  cloud  upon  the  life  of  such  a  creature." 

"  Why  should  you  imagine  that  there  is?  "  asked  Stanhope. 

De  Chateaumesnil  lifted  his  shoulders  in  the  gesture  that  with 
a  Frenchman  says  so  much.  "  How  can  I  tell  ? "  he  answered. 
"  One  has  an  instinct  of  these  things.  It  may  be  in  her  face — 
which  has  a  singular  depth  of  expression  for  one  so  young — or  it 
may  be  in  her  voice :  but  one  sees  and  feels  that  she  has  suf- 
fered." 

"  She  suffered  intensely  in  the  death  of  her  mother,  to  whom 
she  was  devoted." 

"  That  would  be  grief,"  said  the  Marquis,  "  and  is  different 
from  what  I  mean.  Yet  she  is  so  young — she  can  hardly  have 
had  a  story  of  her  own !  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Stanhope — who  understood  what  was 
meant.  "  She  has  led  the  life  of  a  child.  Until  within  the  last 
few  months,  she  had  never  left  her  mother's  side." 

"  She  has  tasted  the  fruit  of  the  tree  of  knowledge,  neverthe- 
less— and  found  it  bitter,"  said  the  other,  with  an  air  of  convic- 
tion. "  I  do  not  ask  you  to  tell  me  anything,  but,  as  I  have  said, 
one  recognizes  some  things.  Only,  as  we  are  old  friends,  pardon 
one  question— do  you  mean  to  marry  her  ?  " 

"  Good  Heavens,  no !  "  cried  Stanhope,  taking  his  ciear  from 
hia  lips  again,  and  in  his  irritation  hnrling  it  away.  "  I  believe 
the  world  is  mad  on  that  subject  of  marriage  !  My  dear  Marquis, 
although  you  are  half  English,  you  have  never  learned  and 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  235 

do  not  know  that  a  man  can  feel  pure  and  simple  friendship  for 
a  woman  who  is  not  related  to  him." 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  said  the  Marquis.  "  Such  a  sentiment 
is  uncommon,  but  I  recognize  the  possibility  that  it  may  exist.  I 
believe,  for  instance,  that  it  is  such  friendship  which  you  feel  for 
the  charming  Mrs.  Falconer.  But  for  this  brilliant,  nymph-like 
creature — what  are  you  made  of,  that  it  is  possible !  " 

u  For  one  thing,  this  brilliant,  nymph-like  creature  seems  a 
mere  child  to  me,"  said  Stanhope,  shortly. 

"  Yet  you  are  not  a  meillard,"  said  the  Marquis,  smiling. 

"For  another  thing,  I  should  as  soon  think  of  falling  in  love 
with  a  goddess  from  Olympus,  if  one  were  to  be  found,  and  ex- 
pecting her  to  share  a  prosaic,  terrestrial  existence.  And,  lastly, 
I  am  not  a  marrying  man — and  never  shall  be !  " 

They  had  reached  the  "Europa"  by  this  time,  and,  as  they 
turned  in  under  its  great  portal,  the  last  emphatic  declaration 
ended  the  conversation. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

WITH  the  exception  of  a  bow  exchanged  on  the  Pincio,  noth- 
ing more  was  seen  or  heard  of  Count  Waldegrave  for  several 
days.  But  as  Thursday  evening  approached,  Mrs.  Falconer  began 
to  feel  a  little  nervous.  Would  he  appear  ?  She  felt  unable  to 
suggest  that  Irene  should  not  do  so,  though,  had  the  girl  herself 
manifested  any  reluctance,  she  would  gladly  have  consented  to 
her  absence.  But  Irene  manifested  none.  It  is  probable  that 
pride  had  something  to  do  with  her  attitude ;  but  it  is  also  likely 
that — the  first  painful  shock  of  meeting  over — the  very  antago- 
nism with  which  she  regarded  Waldegrave  made  her  feel  a  certain 
desire  to  meet  him.  She  was  not  satisfied  with  the  manner  in 
which  she  had  met  him  before  :  she  longed  to  efface  a  sense  of 
failure.  "For  I  let  him  see — he  must  have  seen — that  his  pres- 
ence affected  me,"  she  thought.  "  I  was  taken  by  surprise — I  do 
not  think  I  could  have  been  so  weak  but  for  that.  I  shall  not  be 
taken  by  surprise  another  time,  and  then — "  She  did  not  clearly 
set  before  herself  what  should  occur  "  then  "  ;  she  was  only  con- 


236  HEART  OP  STEEL. 

scious  of  a  strong  impulse  to  impress  her  personality  upon  this 
man,  and  at  the  same  time  to  evince  her  indifference  toward  him. 
A  difficult  task,  it  will  be  seen,  and  one  which  demanded  for  its 
fulfillment  certain  conditions  of  tact  and  temper  and  worldly 
knowledge  which  Irene — with  all  her  brilliance — hardly  pos- 


Meanwhile  Waldegrave  had  quite  determined  that  he  would 
not  appear  at  Mrs.  Falconer's  reception.  Every  day  he  told  him- 
self this  with  decision — which  was  an  unnecessary  amount  of  it- 
eration if  he  had  not  been  conscious  of  some  current  of  desire  set- 
ting in  the  other  direction.  But,  because  he  was  conscious  of 
such  a  current,  he  was  the  more  resolved  not  to  yield  to  it.  Why 
should  he  go  ?  He  was  sufficiently  haunted  already  by  that  "  pale, 
perfect  face,"  and  those  great  eyes  full  of  light  and  pathos.  Not 
that  he  feared  any  folly  on  his  part  like  the  folly  he  had  ob- 
served in  other  men — for,  if  a  man  does  not  deduce  his  conclu- 
sions even  with  regard  to  himself  from  his  past  experience,  what 
shall  he  base  them  upon?  There  was  no  experience  of  past 
weakness  to  warn  him  of  possible  future  weakness ;  but  it  is  un- 
desir.able  to  be  haunted  by  a  face,  though  one  may  do  no  more 
than  admire  it ;  and  eyes  are  best  avoided  that  inspire  a  longing 
to  gaze  down,  down,  and  yet  down  into  their  strangely  unfathom- 
able depths.  Moreover,  he  reminded  himself  that  he  had  not  de- 
sired to  make  Miss  Lescar's  acquaintance.  He  had  been  decidedly 
put  in  a  false  position,  had  been  represented  as  wishing  to  know 
her,  had  been  introduced  as  one  whom  Fate  had  gratified  in  this 
wish,  and  then  had  been  treated  with  unmistakable  disdain !  No, 
he  was  quite  resolved  that  he  would  not  attend  Mrs.  Falconer's 
reception,  and,  to  make  quite  sure  of  himself,  he  accepted  an  invi- 
tation to  dinner  on  that  evening. 

But  he  had  a  fate  as  well  as  (Edipus,  and  he  was  not  to  be 
allowed  to  shun  it.  Among  the  guests  at  the  dinner  was  Lady 
Dorchester,  and  he  found  himself  seated  beside  her  at  table. 
Both  had  prior  claims  upon  their  attention,  yet  presently  an  op- 
portunity for  a  little  conversation  arose. 

"I  have  not  seen  you  for  some  time,  M.  le  Comte,"  said  she, 
turning  toward  him.  "  Have  you  forsworn  society  ?  " 

"So  far  from  that,"  he  replied,  "I  did  myself  the  honor  of 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  237 

calling  on  you  the  other  day,  hut  was  so  unfortunate  as  to  find 
you  out." 

"  Of  course  you  did — and  so  you  would  any  day  if  you  came 
at  the  hour  when  I  drive.  What  is  the  good  of  being  in  Rome 
for  one's  health  if  one  does  not  breathe  as  much  as  possible  of 
Roman  air  ?  A  propos,  my  companion  that  day  was  Mrs.  Falconer 
— who  is  decidedly  the  most  agreeable  person  I  have  met  here — 
and  she  chanced  to  mention  that  you  have  accomplished  your 
desire  to  know  Miss  Lescar." 

"I  do  not  wish  to  be  ungallant  even  by  implication,"  said 
Waldegrave,  smiling,  "  but  if  you  will  recall  our  conversation  on 
the  Pincio  the  day  I  asked  the  name  of  the  young  lady,  you  will 
remember  that  I  by  no  means  expressed  a  desire  to  know  her." 

"I  remember.  You  expressed,  on  the  contrary,  a  fanciful 
fear  that  she  might  not  fulfill  the  ideal  her  face  inspired.  But, 
despite  that,  you  can  not  deny  that  you  were  disappointed  when 
you  did  not  meet  her  at  my  house  as  I  had  promised  that  you 
should." 

"  I  am  sure  you  would  not  believe  me  if  I  did  deny  it." 

"I  should  certainly  think  it  an  incomprehensible  manifesta- 
tion of  the  idealism  of  the  German  nature.  Now  that  you  have 
met  her,  what  is  the  result  ? — is  the  ideal  shattered  ?  " 

"I  can  scarcely  say — for  the  very  good  reason  that  she  hardly 
deigned  either  to  look  at  or  to  speak  to  me." 

"  Ah  ! — shyness,  no  doubt.     She  has  never  been  out." 

Waldegrave  laughed.  "  If  it  was  shyness,"  he  said,  "  I  can 
only  declare  that  I  have  never  seen  shyness  manifest  itself  in 
such  a  manner  before.  It  looked  much  more  like  hauteur." 

"  Nonsense !     Why  should  she  exhibit  hauteur  to  you  ?  " 

"I  confess  I  have  not  the  faintest  idea;  unless,  indeed — I  did 
not  think  of  it  before — she  had  heard  of  my  doubt  whether  she 
would  fulfill  the  ideal  her  face  suggested." 

"  She  could  not  have  heard  of  it,  for  I  have  never  mentioned 
it ;  and  I  can  not  imagine  that  it  would  have  had  any  effect  upon 
her  if  she  had  heard  of  it.  She  may  or  may  not  be  your  ideal, 
but  she  is  certainly  a  very  clever  girl ;  whereas,  according  to  my 
experience,  only  people  who  are  deficient  in  sense  are  offended 
easily." 


238  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"I  am  quite  sure  that  Miss  Lescar  is  not  deficient  in  sense," 
said  Waldegrave.  "  There  is  a  likeness  in  her  face  to  some  other 
face  that  I  have  seen  or  known,  which  puzzles  me,  like  a  tune 
one  can  not  name  though  its  melody  is  familiar.  I  fancy  it  must 
be  some  head  on  an  ancient  medal  or  cameo.  She  looks  more 
like  that  than  anything  else." 

"She  is  a  beautiful  creature,"  said  Lady  Dorchester.  Then, 
after  a  pause,  "  Are  you  going  to  Mrs.  Falconer's  to-night? " 

"  I  think  not,"  he  replied,  with  a  little  hesitation.  "  I  know 
Mrs.  Falconer  very  slightly." 

"And  you  still  fear  the  shattering  of  the  ideal?"  said  she, 
with  a  smile.  "  I  thought  you  too  much  of  a  philosopher.  Let 
me  advise  you  to  go.  It  is  one  of  the  pleasantest  salons  in 
Rome." 

"  So  I  have  heard.     You  are  going,  I  presume  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  always  go.  Do  you  wish  to  make  your  entree  under 
my  wing?" 

"  Could  I  make  it  nnder  a  better  one  ? — that  is,  if  you  will 
permit  me." 

Mrs.  Falconer's  rooms  were  well  filled,  though  not  crowded, 
•when  Lady  Dorchester  and  Count  "Waldegrave  entered.  And,  by 
a  singular  chance,  the  first  person  on  whom  the  eyes  of  the  latter 
fell  was  Irene,  who  happened  at  that  moment  to  have  been  asked 
to  sing,  and  who  was  standing  by  the  piano — her  tall,  slender 
figure,  her  black  dress,  and  her  graceful,  classic  head  making  her 
conspicuous.  Among  the  group  surrounding  her,  Waldegrave's 
quick  glance  at  once  singled  out  the  young  man  who  had  been 
her  companion  on  both  occasions  when  he  had  seen  her,  and 
whose  air  of  devotion  would  have  been  evident  to  the  most  casual 
observation. 

He  had  only  time  for  a  glance,  however,  as  he  followed  Lady 
Dorchester  to  where  Mrs.  Falconer  stood  talking  to  a  stately, 
handsome  Roman  prince.  She  was  looking  very  lovely  in  a  toi- 
let of  violet  satin,  draped  with  misty  falls  of  lace,  caught  here  and 
there  with  a  diamond  like  a  dewdrop,  which  suited  the  delicate, 
Greuze-like  beauty  of  her  skin  and  the  clear  luster  of  her  eyes. 
She  greeted  Lady  Dorchester  cordially,  and  when  the  latter  said, 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  239 

"You  see,  I  have  brought  Count  Waldegrave,"  she  turned  to 
him  with  her  peculiar  sunny  graciousness  of  manner.  This  was 
not  only  because  she  was  now  in  her  own  house,  but  also  because 
she  felt  that  the  burden  of  responsibility  no  longer  rested  on  her 
shoulders.  Stanhope  was  come — and  Stanhope  would  decide 
what  was  to  be  done  about  Irene.  Meanwhile,  Waldegrave  was 
a  guest  whom  it  was  incumbent  upon  her  to  receive  and  treat  as 
she  would  any  other. 

So  she  talked  to  him  for  several  minutes,  while  Lady  Dor- 
chester conversed  with  the  Prince;  and  Waldegrave  began  to 
understand  why  it  was  that  he  heard  Mrs.  Falconer's  praises  so 
often  sung.  To  perfect  usage  du  monde  she  united — what  is  not 
often  found  united  with  it — a  frank  and  kindly  sympathy,  and 
thorough  freedom  from  effort  of  any  kind.  It  is  only  in  the  very 
highest  breeding  that  one  finds  this  exquisite  simplicity;  but 
whether  given  by  nature  or  acquired  by  art,  Mrs.  Falconer  pos- 
sessed it,  and  to  its  charm  men  and  women  of  all  kinds  responded 
with  admiration  and  regard. 

Suddenly,  however,  the  conversation  was  interrupted.  A  voice 
rose— clear,  thrilling,  of  vibrating  sweetness— in  the  passionate 
strains  of  "  Che  faro  senza  Euridice."  "Waldegrave  fairly  caught 
his  breath.  Like  most  Germans,  he  was  devoted  to  music,  keenly 
alive  to  its  influence,  and  thoroughly  able  to  judge  of  its  excel- 
lence. It  appeared  to  him  now  that  he  had  never  listened  to  such 
a  voice  before.  On  the  stage,  no  doubt,  he  had  heard  a  few  voices 
as  beautiful — though  never  one  more  so — and  culture  as  great ; 
but  where  had  he  ever  heard  anything  like  that  quality  which  no 
training  can  bestow,  and  which  can  only  be  described  in  one 
word — expression?  There  was  something  in  this  voice  which 
language  can  no  more  embody  than  it  can  give  the  melody  of  the 
sky-lark,  a  power  such  as  that  which  now  and  then  electrifies  a 
great  audience  into  wild  enthusiasm,  and  sways  the  feeling  of 
a  multitude  as  the  wind  sways  the  trees  of  a  forest. 

And  it  was  another  link  in  the  chain  of  fate  that  this  special 
song  should  have  greeted  him.  Irene  sang  it  in  compliance  with 
Erne's  request — a  request  seconded  by  others — and  with  no  idea 
of  Waldegrave's  presence ;  but  to  him  it  was  like  a  personal  mes- 
sage— conjuring  up  the  saloon  of  the  Villa  Albani,  the  beautiful 


24:0  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

Greek  marble  with  its  tale  of  tender  love  and  of  parting  by  the 
fiat  of  inexorable  destiny.  The  melody  expressed  it  all,  and  with 
it  recalled  the  terrace  with  its  wide  outlook,  the  figure  that 
stood  there  and  gazed  toward  the  far  blue  hills,  and  then  the 
glance  of  eloquent  pathos. — When  the  song  ceased,  he  turned  to 
Mrs.  Falconer  with  irrepressible  surprise. 

"It  is  wonderful!  "  he  said.  " I  do  not  think  that  I  ever  be- 
fore heard  such  a  voice  off  the  stage." 

"It  is  wonderful,  is  it  not?  "  she  replied,  gratified  by  the  im- 
pression made  on  him.  "  I  have  never  heard  one  more  beautiful 
anywhere." 

"And  so  thoroughly  cultivated,"  he  said  after  a  moment. 
"  May  I  ask  where  Miss  Lescar  has  studied  ?  " 

"In  Milan.  She  has  been  for  several  years  under  Signor 
C ." 

"  But  C 's  pupils  are  all  intended  for  the  stage — and  for 

higli  rank  there.  I  have  often  heard  that  he  will  not  train  infe- 
rior talent.  It  is  not  possible  that  Miss  Lescar — " 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  answering  with  the  more 
quickness  and  decision  because  she  perceived  several  new-comers 
advancing  toward  her. 

Her  attention  being  claimed  by  them,  and  the  Prince  still 
monopolizing  Lady  Dorchester,  Waldegrave  moved  away.  He 
found  acquaintances  on  every  side,  for — as  he  had  been  told — 
the  best  of  the  cosmopolitan  society  of  Rome  was  here ;  but  he 
felt  little  inclination  to  linger  with  the  most  famous  man  or  by 
the  side  of  the  most  charming  woman.  A  few  words,  a  glid- 
ing bow,  and  he  passed  on,  holding  the  piano  steadily  in  view, 
where  he  saw  Irene  still  standing,  talking  to  a  young  Spaniard 
who  was  well  known  in  Rome  as  possessing  a  delightful  tenor 
voice.  "  No  doubt  he  is  going  to  sing,"  thought  "Waldegrave, 
with  a  sense  of  irritation.  And  his  prophetic  soul  did  not  deceive 
him,  for  a  moment  later  the  young  man  sat  down,  and,  after  pre- 
luding with  a  light,  brilliant  touch,  began  a  Spanish  serenade  full 
of  the  suggestion  of  "  cloudless  climes  and  starry  skies,"  of  odor- 
ous blossoms  and  opening  lattices.  It  was  charmingly  rendered, 
but  there  were  some  persons  who  shared  "Waldegrave's  sense  of 
impatience.  A  lady  beside  whom  he  had  paused,  said : 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  241 

"  That  is  very  good  indeed,  but  pray  some  one  go  and  per- 
suade Miss  Lescar  to  sing  again.  One  can  hear  Signer  Mendoza 
anywhere,  but  she  only  sings  here.  Count  Waldegrave,  do  you 
go!  " 

Waldegrave  not  unwillingly  obeyed — but  he  found  himself 
forestalled.  When  he  reached  Irene's  side,  the  Marquis  de  Cha- 
teaumesnil  was  standing  before  her,  saying: 

"Xow,  mademoiselle,  you  will  be  kind  enough  to  give  us 
another  song,  I  hope." 

"I  shall  be  happy  to  do  so,  M.  le  Marquis,"  she  answered,  "if 
you  will  tell  me—" 

She  paused.  She  saw  Waldegrave,  and — alas,  poor  Irene ! — 
she  had  no  power  to  conceal  the  effect  his  presence  had  upon  her. 
To  the  Marquis  the  change  in  her  countenance  was  striking, 
though  nothing  in  his  own  countenance  or  manner  betrayed  his 
perception  of  it.  He  only  turned  when  Waldegrave  bowed  and 
spoke. 

"I  have  come,"  he  said,  "as  an  embassador  of  others,  as  well 
as  a  suppliant  in  my  own  person,  to  beg  that  Miss  Lescar  will  sing 
again." 

"  I  have  just  said  that  I  shall  be  happy  to  do  so,"  she  replied, 
somewhat  recovering  herself.  "  M.  de  Chateaumesnil  has  antici- 
pated you."  Then  she  looked  at  the  Marquis  with  a  friendly, 
almost  grateful  glance.  "  I  was  about  to  ask  what  you  wish  to 
hear  ?  "  she  said. 

"I  can  not  presume  to  dictate,"  he  answered,  "but  there 
was  an  exquisite  air  from  '  La  Gazza  Ladra '  which  you  sang  last 
night." 

"  Uo  doubt  that  will  do  as  well  as  anything  else,"  she  said, 
turning  to  the  instrument,  at  which  Erne  seated  himself,  saying, 
"  I  will  play  your  accompaniment." 

"  What  can  be  the  matter !  "  thought  Waldegrave.  "  It  is  not 
imagination  on  my  part,  nor  shyness  on  hers.  There  is  distinctly 
some  reason  why  she  does  not  regard  me  with  favor." 

"  So,"  thought  the  Marquis,  "  there  is,  or  there  has  been,  a 
story — and  here  is  the  hero  of  it !  " 

Happily  unconscious  of  these  thoughts,  Irene  began  her  song, 
thus  affording  relief  to  Erne's  mind,  who  on  his  part  thought  that 


242  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

the  disturbing  clement  which  Count  Waldegrave  represented 
would  probably  tell  upon  her  singing,  and  who  played  his  accom- 
paniment with  great  spirit  when  he  heard  the  clear,  soaring 
melody  into  which  she  broke.  Indeed,  now  that  the  first  sur- 
prise was  over,  the  excitement  had  rather  a  stimulating  effect 
upon  her.  She  never  sang  better — and  the  Italian  part  of  the 
audience  were  carried  away  with  enthusiasm. 

That  there  were  some  dissenting  spirits,  however,  was  only 
natural ;  and  it  was  an  Englishwoman— tall,  good-looking,  with 
her  golden  hair  worn  in  a  tight  clubbed  knot,  and  her  manners  a 
happy  blending  of  stiffness  and  superciliousness — who  put  up  her 
eye-glass  and  said  to  her  companion  : 

"  No  doubt  it  is  very  fine.  But  did  you  ever  hear  anything 
like  it  in  a  drawing-room  before — unless  from  a  professional 
singer  ? " 

"  I  grant  you  that  it  is  not  at  all  an  ordinary  drawing-room 
performance,"  said  the  gentleman  to  whom  she  spoke,  with  a 
laugh.  And  then  he  moved  away,  to  join  the  group  around  the 
singer  and  beg  that  she  would  not  cease. 

But  Irene  turned  decidedly  from  the  piano  and  resisted  all 
importunities.  "  No,"  she  said,  smiling,  "  because  some  people 
enjoy  my  singing,  I  must  not  convert  the  evening  into  a  soiree 
musicale." 

Of  course,  this  elicited  a  number  of  sufficiently  sincere 
assurances  that  every  one  desired  her  to  continue ;  but,  to 
her  relief,  the  Marquis  cut  the  matter  short  by  offering  his 
arm,  saying : 

"I  think,  mademoiselle,  that  you  will  like  to  refresh  your 
throat  with  an  ice.  Later  in  the  evening,  perhaps,  you  will  sing 
again  for  us." 

It  was  a  happy  mode  of  escape.  Irene,  who  knew  instinctively 
that  Waldegrave  was  still  standing  by,  and  who  had  not  ventured 
to  look  toward  him,  took  the  offered  arm  eagerly.  "  Thanks," 
she  said  quickly,  "  I  shall  be  glad  of  a  little  refreshment." 

So,  the  Marquis  led  her  triumphantly  away — down  the  long 
suite  and  through  a  curtained  doorway  into  a  room  where 
refreshments  were  served.  There  he  placed  her  in  a  nook  shaded 
by  broad-leaved  plants,  and  asked  what  she  would  have. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  243 

"A  cup  of  tea,"  she  replied.  "That  will  be  better  than  an 
ice." 

It  was  quickly  brought,  and  the  Marquis,  after  requesting  an 
ice  for  himself,  sat  down  and  looked  at  her  for  an  instant  in 
silence.  Glancing  up,  she  met  the  dark,  deep  eyes,  and  with  the 
frankness  which  characterized  her,  said  : 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? — of  what  are  you  thinking  ?  " 

"I  am  thinking,"  he  answered,  smiling  slightly,  "whether, 
since  this  is  your  first  appearance  at  one  of  Mrs.  Falconer's  large 
receptions,  you  have  felt  no  timidity  in  singing?  " 

"  Not  the  least,"  she  answered.  "  One  or  many — what  does 
it  matter  ?  Crowds  are  made  up  of  units :  it  seems  to  me  that 
thought  robs  them  of  terror." 

"  It  does  not  avail  to  rob  them  of  terror  for  nervous  debutantes 
— but  that,  I  see,  you  are  not,  and  could  not  be.  I  imagine  that 
yon  have  never  known  what  it  was  to  feel  awo  or  fear  of  any 
one." 

"  Do  I  give  you  that  impression  ? "  she  asked,  not  ill  pleased. 
"  But  I  should  not  be  honest  if  I  did  not  confess  that  I  have  felt 
both,  of  one  person.  That  was  my  maestro.  Ah,  I  used  to  trem- 
ble before  him — how  cold  my  hands  would  grow  when  I  was 
going  to  a  lesson !  But  I  should  not  have  been  afraid  if  I  had 
not  cared  for  him  a  great  deal.  I  think  affection  makes  one  a 
coward — one  fears  to  fall  short,  to  disappoint  a  person  one  loves." 

"  Your  maestro  was  very  much  to  be  envied  if  he  inspired 
such  a  sentiment,"  said  the  Marquis.  "What  was  it  about  this 
girl,  he  wondered,  which  gave  a  charm  to  her  simplest  utterances 
which  was  like  a  wild  fresh  flavor  to  his  mental  palate  ?  "  He 
would  be  proud  of  the  success  of  his  pupil  if  he  had  heard  you 
to-night." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  No.  He  cares  nothing  for  success — 
absolutely  nothing  for  applause.  He  thinks  only  of  art." 

"  And  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  think  of  both,  but  not  enough  of  art  to  please  the 
maestro.  I  like  the  power  of  expressing  in  singing  much  that 
seems  to  me  inexpressible  in  words  ;  and  I  like  the  sense  of  sway- 
ing others.  I  am  afraid  that  I  am  fond  of  power,"  she  added,  in 
the  tone  of  making  a  serious  confession. 


244  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

The  Marquis  smiled.  "  It  would  be  strange  if  yon  were  not," 
he  said.  "  I  imagine  that  you  were  born  to  exercise  it.  And  " 
— a  half-sigh. — "  you  are  fortunate  in  possessing  a  field  as  wide  as 
mankind." 

She  looked  at  him  with  quick  sympathy ;  recalling  some  words 
that  Mrs.  Falconer  had  once  spoken  of  him — of  powers  and  am- 
bition without  a  field.  But  before  she  could  answer,  a  lady  ad- 
vanced directly  toward  them,  saying : 

"  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Lescar.  I  have  not  been  able  to  speak 
to  you  before. — Ah,  M.  le  Marquis,  I  am  glad  to  see  you  in  Rome." 

It  was  Lady  Dorchester,  who,  after  salutations  and  compli- 
ments had  been  exchanged,  sat  down  by  Irene. 

"  I  have  been  wanting  to  see  you  for  some  time  in  order  to 
quarrel  with  you,"  she  began,  frankly.  "  Why  did  you  refuse  to 
come  to  me  ?  My  reception  is  really  not  so  much  of  an  affair  as 
this.  You  need  not  have  hesitated." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  Irene,  "  but  you  must  understand 
that  if  I  went  to  you  I  could  not  refuse  to  go  to  other  houses  ; 
and  I  do  not  wish  to  do  that." 

"  Very  well.  You  shall  come  quietly  to  dinner  some  evening, 
when  no  one — to  speak  of — can  be  the  wiser.  Will  you  agree  to 
that  ? " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Irene,  feeling  that  it  would  be  ungracious  to 
refuse ;  "  I  shall  be  happy  to  dine  with  you,  quietly." 

"  We  shall  be  very  quiet — do  not  fear.  I  agree  with  Lord 
Chesterfield,  that  to  be  perfect  a  dinner-party  should  never  be 
less  than  the  Graces  or  more  than  the  Muses.  I  shall  have  one 
Muse  at  least,"  said  she,  smiling. 

"And  Mademoiselle  Lescar  is  a  most  obliging  Muse,"  said  the 
Marquis. 

"  She  ought  to  be,"  said  Lady  Dorchester.  "  Such  an  enchant- 
ing voice  has  been  given  her  that  she  may  add  to  the  happiness  of 
her  fellow-creatures." 

"  I  am  sure,"  said  Irene,  "  that  I  do  my  best  toward  that  end, 
if  singing  can  accomplish  it — though  it  is  a  very  transient  happi- 
ness which  I  have  the  power  to  bestow." 

"  For  that  matter,  all  happiness  is  transient,"  said  Lady  Dor- 
chester. "  But—"  with  a  glance  at  Irene's  empty  tea-cup — "  do 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  245 

not  let  me  detain  you.  I  feared  that  I  should  not  find  another 
opportunity  of  speaking  to  you.  As  for  you,  M.  le  Marquis,  do 
you  not  mean  to  come  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  I  shall  do  myself  that  honor  at  the  earliest  possible  mo- 
ment," replied  the  Marquis.  "  I  have  not  been  aware  until  to- 
night of  your  presence  in  Rome.  Indeed,  I  have  been  here  only 
a  few  days." 

"  You  seem  to  know  Lady  Dorchester  very  well,"  said  Ire'ne, 
as  they  made  their  way  back  to  the  salon. 

"  I  have  known  her  for  a  long  time,"  he  replied.  "  She  is  a 
special  friend  of  my  cousin  Lady  Falconer — and  a  very  agreeable 
woman." 

"Yes,  I  think  so.  English  people  are  agreeable  when  ono 
knows  them  ;  but  they  are  very  hard  to  know." 

"  Very,"  said  the  Marquis,  smiling,  "  and  the  result  does  not 
always  repay  one  for  the  effort  required.  Strange  to  say,  also, 
they  are  rather  proud  of  their  stiffness  and  reserve." 

"  It  is  very  strange  to  one  who  has  known  the  gracious  sweet- 
ness of  Italian  manners,"  said  Irene.  "  There  seems  so  much 
truer  dignity  in  the  one  than  in  the  other." 

"  Oh,  there  is  nothing  comparable  to  the  charming  grace  of 
Italian  manner.  Even  French  courtesy  is  poor  compared  to  it. 
And  when  one  speaks  of  Germans — " 

"  Do  not  speak  of  them,"  said  Irene,  with  a  quick  gesture  of 
disgust.  "  I  abhor  Germans  and  everything  connected  with 
them !  " 

A  gentleman,  whom  they  were  passing  at  the  instant,  heard 
her  words  and  turned.  It  was  Waldegrave. 

"So  that  is  le  mot  de  Venigme!"  thought  the  young  man, 
looking  after  her.  "  She  abhors  Germans.  Well,  I  have  no 
ground  to  be  offended,  for  J  dislike  Americans.  We  are  there- 
fore fairly  quits.  But  what  reason  can  she  have  for  such  an 
abhorrence? " 

He  turned  back  and  continued  a  conversation  in  which  he 
had  been  engaged ;  but  he  could  not  forget  the  words,  nor  their 
heart-felt  emphasis.  And,  when  he  finally  moved  away,  it  was 
with  the  definite  intention  of  seeking  Miss  Lescar,  and  discovering 
whether  an  abhorrence  of  Germans  in  general  made  it  impossible 


246  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

for  her  to  tolerate  any  individual  of  that  nation.  He  represented 
this  to  himself  as  a  matter  of  abstract  curiosity;  but  there  can  be 
no  doubt  that  he  was  a  little  piqued,  and  determined  if  possible  to 
conquer  the  liking  of  the  disdainful  young  lady. 

This  time  Irene  was  not  tbrown  off  her  guard  by  surprise. 
She  saw  him  before  he  reached  the  corner  where  she  sat  talking 
to  a  painter  who  was  one  of  Mrs.  Falconer's  most  frequent  in- 
formal visitors.  In  this  way  she  had  time  to  brace  herself,  and  it 
was  with  an  air  of  wholly  ordinary  courtesy  that  she  turned  when 
he  approached. 

"I  hope,  Miss  Lescar,"  he  said,  "  that  you  mean  to  fulfill  your 
implied  promise  to  sing  again  this  evening." 

"Did  I  imply  such  a  promise?"  she  asked.  "I  think  not. 
According  to  my  recollection,  it  was  M.  de  Chateaumesnil  who 
said  something  of  the  kind  ;  but  I  am  not  bound  by  that." 

"  Certainly  not ;  but  one  may  be  allowed  to  trust  that  you  will, 
at  least,  prove  him  a  true  prophet?  " 

She  shook  her  head.  "lean  not 'sing  again  this  evening," 
she  said.  "It  is  not" — she  looked  at  the  painter  with  a  smile — 
"  like  the  evenings  when  I  sing  for  you  and  a  few  others,  Mr. 
Neville." 

"No,"  said  the  pleasant  Irishman,  answering  her  smile.  "I 
am  afraid  we  are  not  as  considerate  of  you  as  we  might  be  on 
those  occasions." 

"I  have  often  told  yon  that  it  is  a  pleasure  to  me  to  sing,"  she 
eaid,  simply.  "  I  never  weary  of  it." 

"  What  large  drafts  upon  her  good-nature  Miss  Lescar  encour- 
ages by  such  a  remark !  "  said  Waldegrave. 

"Not  larger  than  she  honors,"  replied  Mr.  Neville.  "lean 
testify  to  that." 

"  You  ought,"  said  Irene,  "  after  having  made  me  sing  through 
a  whole  book  of  Irish  melodies  the  other  evening." 

"Ah,  but  what  happiness  it  gave  me !  "  said  he,  with  effusion. 
"I  could  hardly  sleep  that  night,  the  familiar  strains  recalled  so 
many  memories." 

"  And  do  you  call  that  happiness !  "  said  she,  expressively. 

"  Miss  Lescar  is  evidently  incredulous  of  the  pleasures  of  mem- 
ory," said  Waldegrave. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  2±7 

"  Because  I  think  there  is  generally  more  sadness  than  pleasure 
in  it,"  she  replied. 

"  You  are  young  to  have  found  that  out,"  said  the  painter. 
"  It  is  true— after  a  manner — but,  for  myself,  I  agree  neither  with 
Dante  nor  Tennyson  ahout  '  a  sorrow's  crown  of  sorrow.'  On 
the  contrary,  I  think  it  a  truer  sentiment  to  say : 

1  Give  me  the  pleasure  with  the  pain, 
So  would  I  live  and  love  again.' " 

"  And,  fortunately,"  said  "Waldegrave,  "  past  pleasure  is  always 
heightened  in  memory,  whereas  past  pain  is  lessened." 

"  That  must  depend  upon  the  nature  both  of  the  pleasure  and 
the  pain,"  said  Irene.  "  Some  pleasure  could  not  be  heightened ; 
some  pain,  I  am  sure,  could  never  grow  less." 

Again  there  came  into  her  voice  the  pathetic  thrill  which 
Waldegrave  bad  heard  on  the  terrace  of  the  Villa  Albani.  And 
was  it  that,  or  his  own  sympathy,  which  made  him  certain  that 
such  a  pain— or  what  she  believed  to  be  such  a  pain— was  part  of 
her  life  ?  He  looked  at  her,  and  for  the  first  time  she  owned  to 
herself  that  there  was  something  neither  unpleasing  nor  unkindly 
in  that  clear,  penetrating  glance. 

"  There  are  few  pains  of  that  character,"  he  said,  "  else  life 
would  be  a  much  more  miserable  affair  than  it  is.  The  one  recom- 
mendation of  time  is,  that  if  it  robs  us  of  our  joys,  it  also  heals 
our  wounds." 

"But  surgeons  will  tell  you  that  some  wounds  never  heal," 
said  she,  meeting  his  glance  with  eyes  in  which  he  seemed  to  see 
at  once  the  shadow  of  pathos  and  the  fire  of  passion. 

"Ah,  they  are  rare— happily  very  rare— those  wounds,"  said 
Mr.  Neville.  "According  to  my  experience,"  added  he,  philo- 
sophically, "  the  most  enduring  wounds  we  receive  in  life  are 
those  which  we  suffer  in  our  vanity.  Grief  and  disappoint- 
ment may  be  forgotten,  but  who  forgets  a  blow  to  his  amour 
propre  f  " 

"  "We  remember  such  blows,"  said  "Waldegrave,  "  but  we  gene- 
rally dignify  our  sensations  under  them  with  very  fine  names — 
euch  as  wounded  feelings  and  insulted  honor." 

"Then,  I  presume,"  said  Ir6ne,  "that,  since  you  are  both  so 


24:8  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

well  aware  of  this,  you  would  not  suffer  from  a  blow  of  the 
kind." 

"That  is  another  thing,"  said  the  painter.  "I  may  know 
that  it  is  my  vanity  which  is  wounded,  yet  the  vanity  suffers  all 
the  same.  It  will  suffer  if  you  refuse  to  sing  for  me  the  next 
time  I  come,"  added  he,  smiling  at  her. 

"  There  is  no  danger  of  that,"  she  replied,  putting  her  hand 
in  his  as  he  rose  and  bade  her  good-night. 

"  I  am  disappointed  that  I  can  not  hope  to  have  the  pleasure 
of  hearing  you  sing  again  to-night,"  said  Waldegrave,  as  Mr. 
Neville  walked  away.  "It  is  so  great  a  pleasure — for,  as  you 
must  be  aware,  your  voice  is  in  all  respects  exceptional." 

"I  know,  of  course,  that  it  is  good,"  she  answered.  "If  I 
doubted  every  one  else,  I  could  not  doubt  my  maestro  on  that 
point." 

"  Not,  certainly,  if  you  mean  C .  I  was  surprised  when 

Mrs.  Falconer  told  me  that  he  had  been  your  teacher ;  for,  as  a 
general  rule,  he  only  trains  singers  for  the  stage." 

"He  hoped — he  still  hopes — to  persuade  me  to  go  on  the 
stage,"  she  said,  quietly. 

"But  you"  said  "Waldegrave,  quickly,  "you  do  not  think  of 
it?" 

"Why  not?"  she  asked — some  impulse  making  her  speak. 
"  Perhaps  the  maestro  is  right.  Perhaps  Nature  intends  me  for 
it." 

"  I  think,"  said  "Waldegrave,  who  (as  he  reflected  afterward) 
had  no  right  to  express  any  thought  in  the  matter,  "  that  Nature 
intended  you  for  a  very  different  destiny." 

"  You  know  nothing  of  me,"  she  said,  almost  curtly.  "  You 
can  not  tell  how  ambitious  I  may  be ;  and  what  other  field  for 
ambition  have  I  ?  I  may  love  power — and  I  shall  surely  find  it 
there." 

"Pardon  me,"  he  said.  "I  do  indeed  know  little  of  you — 
but  that  little  is  enough  to  make  me  quite  sure  that  you  would 
choose  what  is  fictitious  at  the  cost  of  what  is  really  brilliant  in 
life,  by  taking  such  a  step.  People  for  whom  it  is  the  only  escape 
from  obscurity,  may  be  tempted  by  the  kind  of  fame  and  power 
that  the  stage  offers ;  but  you — "  He  paused  expressively. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  249 

"  Let  me  remind  you  again  that  you  know  nothing  of  me — of 
my  outward  circumstances,  or  my  inward  needs,"  she  said. 
"  And  it  is  a  happiness  to  sing — to  pour  out  one's  own  soul,  and 
feel  that  one  is  playing  on  the  souls  of  others  as  if  they  formed 
some  great  instrument." 

"I  do  not  doubt  that  it  is,"  he  said,  smiling  at  the  light  which 
sprang  into  her  eyes.  "  But  since  you  love  music  so  well,  let  me 
ask  why  you  dislike  Germans  so  much — who  have,  at  least,  the 
merit  of  sharing  that  passion  with  you?  " 

"  How  do  you  know  that  I  dislike  Germans  ? "  she  inquired. 

"  I  regret  to  say,  from  the  best  possible  authority — yourself. 
I  heard  you  state  in  the  most  forcible  manner  that  you  'ab- 
horred '  them — and  that  being  in  the  order  of  a  blow  to  one's 
self-love,  you  see  that  I  have  not  forgotten  it." 

"I  am  sorry  that  you  should  have  overheard  my  speech,"  she 
said,  without,  however,  manifesting  any  of  the  embarrassment 
which  might  have  seemed  natural  under  the  circumstances,  "  but 
I  can  not  possibly  retract  the  words.  I  dislike  Germans  very 
much  ;  and  if  they  had  a  monopoly  of  music — which,  fortunately, 
they  have  not — I  should  probably  dislike  that  too." 

"  And  may  I  be  permitted  to  ask  the  ground  for  such  an 
intense  aversion?"  he  said,  amused  rather  than  offended  by  the 
frankness  and  decision  of  her  tone. 

Her  face  changed— the  mobile  face  which,  with  its  play  of 
expression  and  swift  lights  and  shades,  he  had  begun  to  feel  it  a 
fascination  to  watch. 

"  It  does  not  matter  what  the  ground  is,"  she  said,  coldly. 
"  Nothing  can  change  it — nothing  can  alter  my  opinion." 

She  looked  away  from  him — across  the  room  as  she  had 
looked  across  the  Oampagna  from  the  terrace  of  the  Villa  Albani 
— and,  as  she  did  so,  her  eyes  met  those  of  Stanhope.  She  col- 
ored suddenly,  for  something  in  his  expression  made  her  aware 
that  he  ,w as  regarding  her  keenly  and  not  approvingly.  "Walde- 
grave  saw  the  color  that  suffused  the  white  skin,  and  involunta- 
rily glanced  in  the  direction  of  her  gaze.  At  that  moment 
Stanhope  detached  himself  from  a  group  and  advanced  toward 
them. 

"  I  am  sent,  mademoiselle,"  he  said,  "  to  ask  if  you  will  not 


250  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

sing  a  song  of  which  Lady  Dorchester  is  specially  fond,  and 
which  she  would  like  to  hear  before  she  goes." 

"  I  suppose  I  can  not  refuse  Lady  Dorchester,  though  I  have 
declined  to  sing  several  times,"  she  answered.  "  But  you  must 
ask  the  name  of  the  song,  Mr.  Stanhope." 

"  You  can  ask  it  yourself  en  route  to  the  piano,"  said  Stanhope, 
.  offering  his  arm. 

She  turned  with  a  glance  of  apology  toward  "Waldegrave,  who 
said  with  a  smile,  "I  am  glad  that  we  are  to  be  indebted  to  Lady 
Dorchester." 

Nevertheless,  as  he  watched  the  graceful  figure  move  away,  he 
was  conscious  of  an  impression  that,  let  him  do  what  he  would, 
he  was  not  likely  to  find  favor  in  Miss  Lescar's  eyes. 

"  Well,"  said  Lady  Dorchester,  as  he  was  taking  her  down  to 
her  carriage  half  an  hour  later,  "  what  is  the  result  of  this  even- 
ing? Have  you  discovered  whether  it  was  shyness  or  hauteur? " 

"  I  have  discovered  that  it  was  neither,"  he  answered,  "  bnt  a 
dislike  to  every  one  who  is  unfortunate  enough  to  be  of  Teutonic 
birth." 

"Did  she  tell  you  so?" 

"Distinctly.  There  is  no  doubt  of  her  sentiments  on  that 
point." 

"And  did  she  also  tell  you  why  she  dislikes  them?  " 

"  No — that  is  still  left  in  mystery.  But  a  woman's  likes  and 
dislikes  have  generally  a  personal  basis." 

"  Generally  speaking,  I  am  afraid  they  have.  So  in  this  in- 
stance some  particular  German  is  no  doubt  accountable  for  Miss 
Lescar's  aversion  to  all  Germans." 

"  Or  some  Frenchman,  perhaps — I  suppose  you  observed  the 
Marquis  de  Chateaumesnil  in  attendance  on  her." 

"  Ah,  but  the  Marquis  is  a  suitor  of  Mrs.  Falconer.  I  know 
that  positively  from  my  friend  Lady  Falconer,  who  is  his  cousin 
and  her  sister-in-law..  Therefore,  yon  can  not  place  the  blame 
of  Miss  Lescar's  dislike  to  Germans  on  him." 

"I  have  no  desire  to  place  it  anywhere,"  said  Waldegrave, 
smiling.  " '  "What  is  Hecuba  to  me,  or  I  to  Hecuba '  ?  " 

"A  good  deal,  I  fancy,"  thought  Lady  Dorchester,  after  her 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  251 

carriage-door  was  closed  and  she  rolled  away.  "  Unless  I  am 
much  mistaken,  you  are  more  interested  than  you  are  willing  to 
acknowledge  or  believe." 

He  was  certainly  not  willing  to  acknowledge  it.  For,  as  he 
buttoned  his  overcoat  and,  lighting  a  cigar,  walked  away  from  the 
portone,  he  said  to  himself: 

"  So  she  wishes — she  is  half  resolved— to  become  a  professional 
singer !  It  will  be  desecration  if  it  is  allowed,  but  I  am  glad  she 
was  led  to  speak  of  it.  If  there  had  been  any  danger  for  me  of 
folly  such  as  that  exquisite  face  might  lead  another  man  into,  this 
would  end  it.  Now  I  am  safe." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"  I  AM  by  no  means  easy  in  mind  with  regard  to  Irene  and 
Count  Waldegrave,"  said  Stanhope,  meditatively. 

The  person  to  whom  he  spoke  was,  of  course,  Mrs.  Falconer. 
It  was  the  day  after  her  reception,  and  they  were  alone  in  her 
drawing-room.  Stanhope  had  asked  for  Irene,  but,  having  been 
told  that  she  was  gone  out  with  Mrs.  Yance,  he  sat  down  content- 
edly to  a  tete-d-tete  with  Mrs.  Falconer.  There  was  everything 
in  his  surroundings  to  promote  contentment.  The  picturesque 
room,  filled  with  objects  which  it  delighted  the  eye  to  rest  upon, 
was  also  fragrant  with  flowers;  the  long  windows  opened  on  a  bal- 
cony set  with  plants,  above  which  a  sapphire  sky  looked  in,  and 
there  was  a  glimpse  of  towers  and  domes.  A  graceful  head  was 
also  part  of  the  prospect — for,  in  seating  herself,  Mrs.  Falconer  had 
taken  a  chair  near  one  of  these  windows,  and,  after  Stanhope's 
words,  she  looked  at  him  with  an  interrogative  glance. 

"  What  have  you  observed  to  cause  you  uneasiness  ? "  she 
asked. 

"  One  can  hardly  describe  such  things,"  he  answered.  "  I  sup- 
pose that  I  have  really  observed  nothing  which  would  strike  me 
with  regard  to  any  one  else ;  but  this  juxtaposition  is  so  strange 
that  I  can  not  help  feeling  it  unsafe." 


252  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"Then  why  not  end  it ?" 

"How?" 

"  By  telling  Count  Waldegrave  who  Irene  is." 

"  Ah,  you  see  one  must  have  a  reason  for  such  a  step.  The 
time  for  the  information  would  have  been  when  he  asked  an  in- 
troduction to  her ;  hut  that  time  is  past.  I  can  not  go  to  him 
now  and  say,  '  This  young  lady  is  your  uncle's  daughter,'  with- 
out having  some  reason  for  making  the  disclosure.  As  yet  I  have 
none.  He  has  only  talked  to  her  for  a  few  minutes,  as  any  other 
man  might." 

"I  observed  the  manner  in  which  you  ended  the  conversa- 
tion between  them  last  night." 

"  It  was  time  to  do  so.  ffis  interest  was  deepening,  and  her 
antagonism  of  feeling  being  roused.  Yon  know  how  expressive 
her  face  is.  I  could  tell  the  whole  progress  of  the  conversation — 
and  when  she  turned  from  him  with  an  air  of  disdain,  I  judged 
it  time  to  interfere." 

"What  had  he  said  to  evoke  disdain?  "When  I  observe J 
them,  they  seemed  to  be  talking  very  amicably." 

"  I  fancy  it  was  a  surface  amicableness — at  least  on  Irene's 
part.  But  I  did  not  ask  what  he  said.  No  doubt  it  was  some 
chance  remark  which  struck  her  hidden  wound.  That  is  the 
worst  of  such  wounds.  Being  hidden,  they  are  always  likely  to 
be  rubbed  against." 

"  Yes — and  hers  can  never  be  healed.  You  know  she  speaks 
of  it  very  seldom.  Only  twice  has  she  ever  spoken  of  it  to  me — 
but  on  both  occasions  it  was  a  revelation  of  deep,  bitter,  corrod- 
ing passion.  Seeing  what  the  wrong  is  to  her,  and  what  its  effect 
must  be  on  her  character  and  life,  I  do  not  wonder  at  the  moth- 
er's dying  request.  But  she  might  have  spared  it.  This  girl  will 
never  forgive.  She  is  not  strong  enough  for  that,  and  she  is  too 
strong  to  ignore  what  has  been  done,  and  content  herself  with  the 
things  life  puts  within  her  reach." 

"She  is  young,"  said  Stanhope.  "Her  misfortune  and  her 
excuse  lie  in  that." 

"I  wish  all  other  misfortunes  were  as  easily  surmounted," 
said  Mrs.  Falconer,  smiling.  "But  what  reconciling  influence 
will  later  life  bring?  She  says  that  she  is  resolved  not  to  marry. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  253 

Such  a  declaration  as  that  means  nothing  from  the  lips  of  most 
girls ;  hut  it  means  something  from  her." 

"No  doubt  it  does,"  replied  Stanhope.  "  What  led  her  to  say 
so?" 

"  She  misunderstood  me,  and  thought  that  I  was  going  to 
plead  Lionel's  suit ;  so  she  anticipated  and  much  surprised  me  by 
announcing  first  her  indifference  to  him — which  I  did  not  doubt 
— and  secondly  her  resolution  never  to  marry,  because — I  give 
you  her  own  words — she  '  will  not  take  voluntarily  a  lower  rauk 
than  that  which  should  be  hers,  nor  allow  a  king  to  feel  that  he 
stooped  to  her.' " 

"Poor  child!"  said  Stanhope— "  poor,  proud,  foolish  child! 
Yet  it  is  hard  ;  for  in  such  case  a  man  can  make  name  and  rank 
for  himself;  but  what  can  a  woman  do!  " 

"  Like  Madame  Lescar,  she  can  ennoble  a  hard  fate  by  nobly 
bearing  it." 

"  True — but  Prince  Waldegrave's  daughter  has  not  the  quali- 
ties to  fit  her  for  such  a  role.  The  ambition  she  has  inherited 
from  him,  and  the  sense  of  power  which  comes  from  the  posses- 
sion of  high  gifts,  make  her  position  in  life  intolerable  to  her. 
It  is  impossible  to  foresee  what  her  future  will  be.  She  is  an 
enigma." 

"But  a  charming  one." 

"Yes,  she  is  charming  to  those  who  see  only  the  brilliant 
surface,  and  know  nothing  of  the  volcano  underneath." 

"Do  not  speak  so.  It  is  not  a  volcano  likely  to  harm  any  one 
but  herself." 

"  Unless  it  should  burst  forth  upon  Prince  Waldegrave.  I  do 
not  wish  to  do  her  injustice  even  in  my  thoughts — and  only  to 
you  would  I  speak  of  what  has  occurred  to  me.  But  has  it  oc- 
curred to  you  that  some  such  desire  may  have  been  the  motive 
for  her  consent  to  know  Count  Waldegrave  ?  " 

"'Some  such  desire' — you  are  very  obscure.  What  kind  of 
desire  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  It  is  more  easily  felt  than  expressed.  If  I  said  '  a  desire  to 
do  him  harm,'  it  would  express  more  than  I  mean." 

"I  hope  so,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  warmly.  "I  am  sure  you 
are  unjust  in  entertaining  the  faintest  form  of  such  a  thought. 


254  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

Let  her  faults  be  what  they  will,  they  are  all  of  a  noble  order. 
I  know  that  she  would  if  she  could  make  the  author  of  her 
mother's  wrongs  feel  what  her  sufferings  were — but  not  by  any 
act  of  petty  revenge,  even  if  knowing  Count  Waldegrave  could 
bring  such  an  act  within  her  reach." 

"  He  is  probably  the  only  person  in  the  world  to  whom  his 
uncle  is  attached,"  said  Stanhope,  "  and  to  destroy  his  peace  of 
mind  would  be  a  mode  of  reprisal." 

"Mr.  Stanhope,  I  will  not  listen  to  another  word!  Never 
talk  again  of  women's  fancies  running  away  with  them !  Yours 
have  run  quite  as  far  as  any  woman's  could,  and  outleaped  proba- 
bility as  completely.  Can  even  a  novelist's  imagination  conceive 
Count  Waldegrave's  peace  of  mind  destroyed? — Count  Walde- 
grave, who  is  simply  a  reproduction  of  his  heartless,  ambitious 
uncle ! " 

"  May  a  novelist  be  permitted  to  remind  you,  as  a  matter  not 
of  imagination  but  of  fact,  that  at  the  outset  of  his  career  that 
'  heartless  and  ambitious  uncle '  committed  the  folly  of  marrying 
a  beautiful  and  charming  woman,  simply  because  she  was  beauti- 
ful and  charming  ?  And  if  the  nephew  is  a  reproduction  of  the 
uncle,  it  is  a  reproduction  with  difference.  This  man  has  a  side 
to  his  character  which  Prince  "Waldegrave — if  one  may  judge  by 
his  face — has  not." 

"  And  that  is—  ?  " 

"  A  side  which,  if  not  poetic  in  itself,  is  vulnerable  to  poetic 
influences.  In  other  words,  he  has  imagination  to  be  roused,  and 
the  capability  of  ideal  sympathies.  You  can  tell  whether  or  not 
Irene's  character  is  likely  to  possess  attraction  for  such  a  nature." 

"It  is  very  likely.  Her  character  possesses  attraction  for 
every  one  capable  of  appreciating  it.  But  however  warm  Count 
Waldegrave's  appreciation  should  become,  I  confess  that  I 
could  not  consider  the  matter  very  seriously.  '  Men  have  died 
and  worms  have  eaten  them,  but  not  for  love '  —  and  what 
was  true  in  the  sixteenth  century  is  doubly  true  in  the  nine- 
teenth." 

"  I  know  your  opinion  on  that  head,"  said  Stanhope,  smiling 
slightly.  "  I  should  not  like  to  be  the  man  who  came  to  you  with 
a  tale  of  passion." 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  255 

"  Tales  of  passion  have  gone  out  of  fashion,"  said  she,  her 
lip  curling  half  scornfully,  half  impatiently.  "  TVho  tells  them, 
who  believes  in  them  now  ?  " 

"I  fancy  that  the  world  is  much  as  it  ever  was,"  said  Stan- 
hope; "and  while  we  grow  cynical  in  drawing-rooms,  people 
below  our  windows  are  making  love  in  the  old  manner." 

"  Perhaps  so.  But  in  the  world — in  our  world — people  marry, 
as  they  do  everything  else,  from  motives  of  interest." 

"  That  depends  upon  the  people.  The  majority  of  the  world 
undoubtedly  seek  interest  in  all  things.  But  who  knows,  or  ought 
to  know,  better  than  you,  that  there  are  many  exceptions."  He 
paused  a  moment,  then  went  on  quietly,  "  Since  we  are  on  the 
subject  of  marriage,  I  wonder  if  you  will  permit  me  to  be — perhaps 
a  little  presumptuous  ?  " 

She  was  silent  for  an  instant — looking  down  at  her  hands, 
which  lay  clasped  together  on  the  velvet  of  her  dress — before 
answering: 

"  I  have  no  fear  that  you  will  be  presumptuous.  You  may  be 
as  frank  as  you  please." 

But,  after  the  permission  was  given,  he  did  not  seem  in  haste 
to  avail  himself  of  it.  He  looked  out  at  the  sapphire  of  the  sky, 
at  the  soft  roundness  of  a  distant  dome,  and  it  was  plain  that  it 
cost  him  an  effort  to  speak  at  last. 

"No  one  is  more  fully  aware  than  I  am  how  delightful  your 
present  life  is — and  no  one  would  feel  more  deeply  any  change  in 
it,"  he  said.  "  But,  naturally,  there  must  be  a  change.  I  have 
always  looked  forward  to  your  making  a  brilliant  marriage,  and  I 
have  only  feared  that  it  might  prove  more  brilliant  than  happy. 
But  I  believe  that  you  have  now  an  opportunity  to  make  a  mar- 
riage which  to  brilliance  would  combine  as  fair  a  prospect  of  hap- 
piness as — as  is  possible  in  any  marriage,  I  presume,"  he  ended, 
rather  uncheerfully. 

She  lifted  her  eyes  and  looked  at  him  with  an  expression  which 
he  did  not  understand. 

"  May  I  beg  you  to  be  more  clear  ?  "  she  said.  "  What  oppor- 
tunity have  I  of  making  a  brilliant  marriage,  with  a  fair  prospect 
of  happiness  combined  ?  " 

"  You  may  have  many,  for  aught  I  know,"  he  answered,  smiling 


256  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

a  little.  "  But  I  imagined  you  would  be  aware  that  I  alluded  to 
the  Marquis  de  Chateaumesnil." 

"Has  M.  de  Chateaumesnil  asked  you  to  speak  for  him? "  she 
demanded,  with  something  like  a  flash  in  her  glance. 

"  Certainly  not,"  he  replied.  "  But  I  am  acquainted  with  his 
sentiments  and  hopes — the  ice  was  broken  one  night  in  Algiers 
when  we  smoked  our  cigars  together  by  the  sea,  and  since  then  I 
have  heard  much  of  them :  so,  thinking  that  my  opinion  might 
have  a  little  weight  with  you,  I  felt  as  if  I  ought  to  speak.  I  hope," 
he  added,  after  another  pause,  "that  you  know  I  have  only  one 
end  to  serve — your  happiness." 

"  And  do  you  think  that  would  be  served  in  what  is  called  '  a 
brilliant  marriage' — a  marriage  for  rank?"  she  asked  with  the 
faintest  possible  shade  of  bitterness  in  her  voice. 

"No,"  he  answered,  "I  do  not  think  so,  if  such  a  marriage 
were  based  only  on  the  advantages  it  brought.  But  if  united  with 
these  advantages  were  qualities  to  insure  happiness,  I  certainly 
think  that  Nature  intended  you  for  a  gran.de  dame,  to  fill  and 
adorn  a  great  position." 

"  It  is  the  old  story,"  she  said ;  "  you  think  me  very  ambi- 
tious." 

"  You  can  not  deny  that  you  are :  you  can  not  say  that  you 
would  be  satisfied  in  obscurity,  or  that  it  is  not  your  delight  to  be 
on  a  social  pinnacle — to  surround  yourself  with  distinguished  and 
cultured  people." 

"I  can  do  that  as  I  am." 

"  Undoubtedly.  But  it  is  too  much  to  expect  that  a  woman 
of  your  age  and  with  your  attractions  will  remain  as  you  are. 
Besides,  you  would  like,  even  better  than  the  freedom  and  pleasure 
of  your  present  existence,  to  unite  your  life  with  that  of  a  man 
capable  of  winning  distinction  ;  you  would  like  to  aid  in  his  suc- 
cess, and  see  it  reflected  back  upon  yourself." 

"You  have  certainly  paid  me  the  compliment  of  studying  me 
closely,"  she  said,  flushing  slightly. 

"Yes,  I  have  studied  you  closely,"  he  replied,  quietly.  "I 
know  what  will  be  best  for  you.  I  do  not  wish  to  be  understood 
as  saying  that  the  Marquis  de  Chateaumesnil  is  altogether  worthy 
of  you.  I  have  never  seen  a  man  who  was.  But  with  high  rank 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  257 

he  unites  the  power  to  achieve  distinction,  should  circumstances 
ever  be  propitious,  and  a  character  which,  after  long  and  close 
observation,  I  can  earnestly  commend.  He  is  brave,  generous,  and 
unselfish  in  no  ordinary  degree." 

She  did  not  reply  for  several  minutes,  but  looked  silently  at 
the  deep-blue  Roman  sky.  The  momentary  flush  had  faded  from 
her  face  and  left  it  a  little  paler  than  usual,  and  her  eyes,  when  she 
turned  them  back  on  him,  seemed  deeper  and  darker  from  the 
contrast. 

"  You  know,"  she  said  in  a  low  but  distinct  voice,  "  the  story  of 
my  marriage — you  know  what  shipwreck  overtook  my  hopes  then. 
Can  you,  therefore,  advise  me  to  marry  a  man  whose  past  has  been 
much  the  same  as  the  past  of  Ralph  Falconer  ?  Should  I  not  be 
mad  if  I  did  not  profit  by  experience  ?  Should  I  deserve  com- 
passion if  I  found  myself  a  second  time  at  the  mercy  of  a  selfish 
epicurean,  a  profligate  spendthrift  ?  " 

"  There  is  generally  a  measure  of  risk  in  answering  for  another 
person,"  he  said,  "but  I  do  not  feel  that  I  incur  any  in  declaring 
that  you  would  have  nothing  of  the  kind  to  fear  from  M.  de 
Chateaumesnil.  The  follies  of  his  youth  are  over  —  over  not 
merely  in  lapse  of  time,  but  in  change  of  character,  which  makes 
their  recurrence  impossible.  Of  selfishness — which  is  the  founda- 
tion of  epicurean  indulgence — I  have  found  him  conspicuously 
free.  His  matured  taste  revolts  from  any  form  of  profligacy,  and 
he  has  too  much  sense  to  be  a  spendthrift.  Those  things  which 
lower  him  in  your  opinion  were  the  mere  effervescence  of  youth- 
ful vitality.  Time,  trouble,  the  stern  realities  of  suffering  and 
death  which  war  brought,  have  wholly  changed  him.  The  gen- 
tilhomme  remains — keenly  sensitive  to  honor  in  all  forms  and 
with  his  heart  set  on  high  ambitions,  though  he  is  not  willing  to 
sell  his  God  or  his  king  to  gain  them." 

"You  are  an  eloquent  advocate — I  have  observed  that  be- 
fore," she  said.  ''  But  M.  de  Chateaumesnil  must  plead  his  own 
cause.  A  man  who  fails  to  do  that  does  not  deserve  and  should 
not  expect  an  answer." 

"M.  de  Chateaumesnil  has  no  other  intention,"  said  Stan- 
hope. "  It  was  because  I  am  aware  that  he  means  to  do  so,  that 
I  felt  bound  to  tell  you  what  I  have  found  him  to  be.  I  know 


258  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

that  you  have  some  reliance  on  my  opinion ;  and  I  know  also 
that  you  have  done  him  some  injustice  in  your  estimate  of  his 
character." 

"  Probably  I  have,"  she  replied.  Her  eyes  turned  through 
the  open  window  again.  "  One  may  be  mistaken  about  many 
things,"  she  said.  "And,  after  all,  what  does  anything  matter? " 

"  Such  a  sentiment  is  not  like  you,"  he  said,  rising.  Perhaps 
(she  thought)  now  that  his  friendly  task  was  discharged  he  was 
glad  to  go.  There  was  certainly  an  air  of  relief  in  his  movement. 
But  through  his  bronzed  skin  he  too  looked  a  little  pale,  like  a 
man  who  is  holding  himself  in  some  sort  of  a  tension.  "  Believe 
that  I  have  thought — that  I  think — only  of  your  happiness,"  he 
said,  standing  before  her.  "I  would  not  wish  you  to  marry  a 
prince,  unless  he  had  qualities  to  secure  that." 

"But  what  are  the  qualities  to  secure  it?  "  she  asked,  as  she 
rose  also  and  stood  before  him.  "  That,  Mr.  Stanhope,  with  all 
your  powers  of  observation,  you  do  not  know."  Then  she  held 
out  her  hand.  "  Good-by,"  she  said,  with  a  smile.  "  You  will 
be  satisfied,  I  suppose,  if  I  promise  to  consider  what  you  have 
said — but  I  make  no  further  promise.  Understand  that." 

"  I  understand,"  he  replied.  And  then,  leaving  a  message  for 
Irene,  he  went  away. 

But  he  carried  the  memory  of  that  smile  with  him.  It  haunt- 
ed and  perplexed  him.  What  did  it  mean  ?  It  had  contained  a 
meaning  to  which  he  felt  he  had  not  a  key,  unless —  Suddenly 
Godwin's  face  rose  before  him  and  Godwin's  words  seemed 
sounding  in  his  ears.  "lean  not  understand  how  a  man  who 
has  a  chance,  can,  from  faint-heartedness  or  carelessness,  fail  to 
put  forth  his  hand  and  seize  it."  But  he  dismissed  the  thought 
as  angrily  as  he  had  dismissed  the  original  suggestion.  "Am  I 
a  fool,"  he  thought,  "  that  I  should  remember  such  folly  ?  And 
even  if  it  were  true,  what  then  ?  A  chance  can  not  be  said  to 
exist  when  a  man  must  forfeit  his  self-respect  to  seize  it." 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  259 


CHAPTER  X. 

LADY  DORCHESTER  did  not  long  delay  in  arranging  that  din- 
ner-party which  was  to  be  restricted  to  the  number  of  the  Muses. 
Indeed,  it  was  within  that  number — for  it  comprised  only  eight 
persons,  including  the  hostess.  Besides  Mrs.  Falconer  and  Irene, 
there  were  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Bevis — pleasant  English  people  and 
cousins  of  Lady  Dorchester  —  the  Marquis  de  Chateaumesnil, 
Count  Waldegrave,  and  Mr.  Ffulkes,  a  young  attache  of  the  Brit- 
ish embassy,  brimming  over  with  musical  enthusiasm  and  aesthetic 
culture. 

"  Now,  have  I  not  done  well?  I  am  sure  you  can  not  feel 
that  this  is  not  quiet  enough !  "  said  Lady  Dorchester  when  she 
met  Irene,  who  replied  that  there  was  certainly  nothing  alarming 
in  the  size  of  the  assembly.  If  she  smiled  at  the  same  time,  it 
was  because  she  thought  the  lady's  solicitude  was  solely  on  ac- 
count of  her  singing.  But  in  that  she  was  mistaken.  Not  even 
the  perfect  voice  and  flawless  method,  of  which  all  the  cognoscenti 
in  Eome  were  talking,  would  have  wrought  upon  Lady  Dorches- 
ter, without  the  beauty  and  grace  which  were  as  remarkable  as 
the  voice  and  the  charm  that  was  like  a  soul  to  both.  Moreover, 
she  had  a  half-mischievous  desire  to  see  what  would  be  the  result 
of  feeding  the  flame  of  interest  which  she  felt  very  sure  existed 
in  Count  Waldegrave's  breast.  "  He  is  such  an  icicle,  I  shall  be 
glad  to  see  him  melted  a  little,"  she  said  to  herself;  and,  with  no 
more  fear  of  consequences  than  a  child  has  in  applying  a  match 
to  gunpowder,  she  proceeded  to  subject  this  icicle  to  what  she 
conceived  to  be  a  melting  influence. 

It  was  rather  a  freezing  one,  the  icicle  himself  thought,  when 
Irene  acknowledged  his  presence  by  a  slight  bow  and  then  turned 
with  a  warm  smile  to  the  Marquis.  Mr.  Ffulkes  also  received 
a,  share  of  her  sunshine,  being  evidently  on  a  footing  of  cordial 
acquaintance.  Indeed,  he  was  one  of  her  most  ardent  admirers — 
one  of  those  who  had  done  much  to  waken  curiosity  with  regard 
to  her.  Mr.  Ffulkes's  admiration  was  always  purely  aesthetic  and 
abstract,  but  it  had  great  weight.  When  he  turned  from  the  con- 
templation of  Botticelli  and  the  study  of  Carpaccio  to  commend 


260  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

the  beauty  of  a  living  woman,  people  felt  that  she  must,  in  one 
way  or  another,  be  worth  looking  at.  Frequently  his  beauties 
were  of  a  type  which  did  not  accord  with  preconceived  standards, 
but  he  had  been  understood  to  say  that  Miss  Lescar  belonged  to 
u  the  most  intellectual  type  of  antique  loveliness  "  ;  and  those  who 
entered  the  galleries  were  happily  able  to  verify  this  for  them- 
selves. 

Mrs.  Bevis,  though  lately  arrived,  had  already  heard  of  her,  and 
she  put  up  her  eye-glass  with  much  curiosity  as  the  slender,  stately 
figure  in  black,  relieved  only  by  white  roses,  followed  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner into  the  drawing-room. 

"  Oh,  she  is  beautiful !  "  she  exclaimed  involuntarily.  "  What 
a  charming  face  and  what  radiant  eyes !  One  is  generally  disap- 
pointed when  one  has  heard  so  much  of  anybody,  but  disappoint- 
ment is  not  possible  here." 

"Miss  Lescar  is  very  beautiful,"  observed  Waldegrave — to 
whom  she  spoke — "  and  beautiful  in  an  uncommon  style." 

"Yes— so  spirituelle.  And  she  has  a  phenomenal  voice  be- 
sides ?  It  is  really  too  much  for  one  person  1 " 

"  One  does  not  think  so  when  one  knows  the  person,"  said  he. 

The  lady  looked  at  him  quickly.  "  I  dare  say  not,"  she  re- 
plied, with  a  smile. 

When  dinner  was  announced,  Waldegrave,  who  took  in  Mrs. 
Bevis,  found  himself  at  table  opposite  Irene,  who  had  been 
taken  in  by  Mr.  Ffulkes,  and  was  seated  between  him  and  the 
Marquis.  Although  placed  thus  advantageously,  it  was  some 
time  before  they  exchanged  even  a  glance,  notwithstanding  that 
each  was  intensely  conscious  of  the  presence  of  the  other.  With 
Irene  this  consciousness  was  something  to  be  resented :  she 
would  gladly  have  ignored  it  in  reality  as  in  appearance.  With 
Waldegrave  it  was  something  so  new  that  he  was  surprised  by  its 
novelty.  When  ever  before  had  he  found  himself  listening  with 
eager  attention  to  catch  the  sound  of  a  voice  not  addressed  to  him, 
or  irresistibly  impelled  to  let  his  gaze  wander  toward  a  face  that 
more  and  more  seemed  to  him  the  expression  of  all  that  was  most 
intellectually  delicate  and  spiritually  refined  ? 

"  That  girl  has  a  most  fascinating  face,"  said  Mrs.  Bevis,  sud- 
denly—speaking, as  it  were,  his  thought — "  it  drives  one  to  stare 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  261 

in  a  very  ill-bred  manner ;  it  has  such  vivid  changes  that  one  has 
a  curiosity  to  see  what  it  will  express  next."  Then  in  a  lower 
tone :  "  Does  it  strike  you  how  well  it  harmonizes  with  that  fine, 
high-bred  countenance  of  the  Marquis  de  Chateaumesnil  ?  Of  Mr. 
Ffulkes's  appearance  one  can  not  say  much.  Though  an  apostle  of 
beauty,  he  is  certainly  not  beautiful." 

"If  Mr.  Ffulkes  had  been  allowed  to  make  himself,  he  would 
have  appeared  before  the  world  in  a  different  form,"  said  Walde- 
grave,  smiling.  "  As  it  is,  he  does  his  best  to  correct  the  mistakes 
of  nature.  Unless  basely  slandered,  he  lives  on  a  most  ethereal 
diet,  in  order  to  keep  down  any  possible  grossness  of  form  or 
spirit." 

"  A  bunch  of  grapes  and  a  glass  of  water  ?  I  have  heard  so — 
though  he  appears  to  be  devoting  himself  to  the  entrees  in  a  very 
commendable  manner  now.  But  what  is  he  saying?  " 

Mr.  Ffulkes  was  saying,  in  reply  to  some  question  or  assertion 
of  Colonel  Bevis,  that  culture  was  an  imperative  duty  laid  upon 
every  one ;  that  no  one  had  a  right  to  neglect  a  single  power,  to 
crush  a  single  aspiration ;  and  that  human  society  would  only 
reach  an  ideal  standard  when  it  was  composed  of  people  who,  as 
far  as  possible,  were  fully  rounded  on  all  sides. 

"  Then  you  must  have  an  ideal  state  of  leisure  to  accomplish 
your  standard,"  said  Colonel  Bevis,  "  and  people  must  recognize 
no  duty  except  the  duty  of  culture.  If  a  man  does  recognize  the 
obligation  to  do  anything  else,  life  is  not  long  enough  to  grasp  all 
arts,  to  perfect  himself  in  all  accomplishments  and  in  all  knowl- 
edge." 

Mr.  Ffulkes  was  understood  to  reply  that  all  knowledge  was 
not  essential :  that  much  of  it  was  irrelevant  and  added  nothing 
to  the  grace  and  loveliness  of  life. 

*'  Oh,  it  is  only  grace  and  loveliness  of  which  you  are  think- 
ing !  "  said  Colonel  Bevis.  "  But  even  on  that  ground  I  don't  see 
that  your  position  is  tenable.  The  man  who  paints  pictures  adds 
to  the  grace  and  loveliness  of  life,  but  he  is  not  fully  rounded  ac- 
cording to  your  view,  because  painting  is  only  one  beautifying 
influence ;  and  unless  he  neglects  his  special  art  he  certainly  can 
not  also  write  books,  model  statues,  or  build  bridges,  like  Leo- 
nardo da  Vinci." 


262  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"I  am  glad  you  have  spoken  of  Leonardo  da  Vinci,"  said  Mr. 
Ffulkes,  "as  he  is  the  great  type  of  many-sided  genius,  the  great 
proof  that  it  is  possible  for  one  man  to  do  many  things  equally 
well-" 

"  But  he  can  hardly  be  called  a  type,"  interposed  Mrs.  Falconer. 
"  He  stands  alone — sui  generis.'1'' 

"And  he  was  a  supreme  genius,"  added  Lady  Dorchester, 
"  whereas  your  painters  and  poets  and  architects  generally  are 
clever  men  of  talent— no  more." 

"  I  was  going  to  say,"  went  on  Mr.  Ffulkes,  waving  these  re- 
marks aside  with  one  slight  motion  of  a  lily-like  hand,  "that 
Leonardo  da  Vinci  proves  what  is  possible  even  in  the  line  of 
achievement,  though  I  was  thinking  chiefly  of  appreciation." 

"  But  somebody  must  achieve  something,"  said  Colonel  Bevis. 
"  Even  in  art  you  can  scarcely  propose  that  the  world  shall  rest 
on  what  has  been  done." 

"  The  world  appears  likely  to  rest  on  it,"  said  Mr.  Ffulkes  in  a 
tone  of  severe  significance.  "There  are  few  modern  works  of 
art  worthy  of  any  consideration.  We  can  do  nothing  better  now 
than  devote  ourselves  to  the  reverent  study  of  the  past." 

"  That  is  not  a  very  bright  outlook  for  the  future,"  Colonel 
Bevis  replied,  with  an  irreverent  laugh. 

"  Consideration  of  the  future  does  not  play  a  large  part — or,  in 
fact,  any  part  at  all — in  Mr.  Ffulkes's  creed,"  said  the  Marquis. 
"  It  is  a  curious  and  significant  fact,"  he  went  on,  ''that  in  this 
feverish  nineteenth  century,  with  its  war-cries  of  material  prog- 
ress, a  school  should  arise  that  preaches  absolute  indifference  to 
such  progress,  and  counsels  its  disciples  to  sit  down  in  a  world  of 
beautiful  sights  and  exquisite  sounds  and  regard  the  struggling 
mass  of  humanity  with  mingled  scorn  and  disgust." 

"  Pardon  me,"  replied  Mr.  Ffulkes,  "  you  are  mistaken.  As  far 
as  we  can  be  said  to  preach  at  all,  we  try  to  urge  upon  all  men 
the  calming  and  satisfying  influences  of  beauty." 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  them  urged  upon  a  mob  of  Communists, 
mad  for  '  la  Revolution  Sociale  ' — which  is  to  put  it  out  of  any 
one's  power  to  surround  himself  with  sights  and  sounds  of  beauty," 
said  Count  "Waldegrave  with  the  sarcastic  smile  which  made  many 
people  declare  that  his  face  was  disagreeable. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  263 

The  apostle  of  beauty  looked  at  him  with  something  like  a 
flash  in  his  usually  serene  glance. 

"  I  think,"  he  said,  "that  you  and  I  are  of  one  mind  with  re- 
gard to  what  should  be  done  with  the  gentlemen  who  cry  for  '  la 
Kevolution  Sociale.' " 

"  Are  we  ?  "  said  Waldegrave.  "  My  method  would  be  sum- 
mary, and  not  at  all  in  the  order  of  the  calming  and  satisfying  in- 
fluences of  beauty." 

"No  sane  man  could  think  that  tigers  athirst  for  blood  would 
be  amenable  to  such  influences,"  said  Mr.  Ffulkes,  with  dignity. 

Then  he  turned  and  addressed  himself  to  Irene ;  but  he  found 
her  attention  wandering  to  what  the  Marquis  was  saying  to  Wal- 
degrave. 

"Your  method  would  be  very  summary,  I  do  not  doubt,"  he 
observed,  "  and  for  the  leaders  I  grant  you  that  it  could  not  be 
too  summary.  But  there  are  the  deluded  masses,  worked  upon 
through  their  suffering  and  ignorance — how  would  you  deal  with 
tivmt" 

"  There  is  but  one  way — with  the  strong  hand,"  replied  the 
other,  while  Irene,  looking  at  him,  saw  the  resolute  expression  of 
power  that  came  into  his  face. 

The  Marquis  smiled.  "  I  am  little  more  than  a  philosophical 
observer  of  the  political  problems  that  are  convulsing  modern  so- 
ciety," he  said,  "  but  what  strikes  me  chiefly  is  that,  although  we 
are  informed  that  this  is  an  age  when  for  the  first  time  the  people 
have  secured  or  are  about  to  secure  certain  rights  and  privileges 
supposed  to  be  theirs,  there  has  really  never  been  a  time  when 
this  same  people — in  the  sense  of  the  great  multitude  of  mankind 
— are  likely  to  fare  worse.  For  where  have  they  a  friend?  In 
the  darkest  days  of  the  middle  ages  there  was  the  great  power  of 
the  Church  that  took  the  serf  by  the  hand  and  bade  baron  and 
king  see  in  him  a  brother;  that  stood  by  the  throne  and  said  to 
Caesar,  *  Thus  far  shalt  thou  go  and  no  farther.'  But  the  kings 
found  that  power  a  burden  and  constraint,  so  they  bade  it  go  forth 
from  their  courts.  It  can  not  be  said  that  they  have  gained  much, 
for  they  are  now  trembling  before  the  menacing  form  of  Socialism 
— the  Frankenstein  monster  that  has  been  evoked  by  the  doctrine 
of  free  thought  and  free  speech.  But,  meanwhile,  how  do  the 


264  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

people  fare  ?  There  are  rulers  like  yourself,  Count  Waldegrave, 
ready  to  grind  them  to  powder ;  there  is  a  new  paganism,  which 
wraps  itself  in  Tyrian  purple,  preaches  sensuous  enjoyment,  and 
gives  not  a  thought  to  anything  heyond ;  there  are  visionaries  who 
talk  of  humanity,  hut  whose  ideas,  when  translated  from  the  vague 
phraseology  in  which  they  are  clothed  into  plain  language,  mean 
only  that  humanity  is  to  take  the  place  of  God,  and  every  man  is 
to  do  as  he  likes ;  and,  lastly,  there  are  designing  demagogues  who 
inflame  the  minds  of  multitudes  with  wild  declarations  of  the  rights 
of  man  ;  who  incite  the  people  to  seize  power,  through  the  flatter- 
ing doctrine  that  it  belongs  to  them,  in  order  that  they  may  in 
turn  seize  it  and  show  the  world  such  corruption  and  such  tyr- 
anny as  only  a  democracy  can  produce." 

It  was  seldom  that  the  Marquis  was  led  to  speak  in  such  a 
strain  or  at  such  length,  and  the  only  person  not  surprised  was 
Mrs.  Falconer.  Irene,  who  had  listened  eagerly,  looked  invol- 
untarily at  Waldegrave  for  his  reply,  and  as  he  met  the  light  that 
shone  in  her  eyes — a  light  of  warm  approval — he  found  himself 
suddenly  and  unaccountably  envying  the  Marquis. 

"I  agree  with  you  almost  entirely,"  he  said,  "though  you  are 
so  uncomplimentary  in  your  designation  of  my  method  of  govern- 
ment. The  removal  of  the  spiritual  curb,  both  with  regard  to 
rulers  and  people,  must  certainly  be  acknowledged  by  any  thinking 
man  to  have  been  a  great  misfortune.  But  we  have  to  face  things 
as  they  are — not  as  they  might  have  been ;  and  the  severity  that 
averts  revolution  is  better  than  the  temporizing  weakness  that 
leads  to  it." 

"  Who  should  know  that  better  than  a  Frenchman?  "  said  the 
Marquis. 

When  the  ladies  were  presently  alone  in  the  drawing-room, 
Lady  Dorchester  said  to  Mrs.  Falconer:  "How  well  M.  de  CM- 
teaumesnil  spoke,  and  how  well  he  looked  while  speaking!  I 
never  saw  him  so  animated  or  so  much  in  earnest  before.  In- 
deed, I  did  not  think  he  could  be.  He  always  seemed  to  me 
entirely  persifleur" 

"I  did  him  that  injustice,  too,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer  with  a 
slight  smile,  "  until — well,  until  my  eyes  were  opened  by  one  who 
knows  him  well." 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  265 

"It  is  a  pity  he  does  not  enter  public  life — as  far  as  it  is  pos- 
sible for  a  Legitimist  to  do  so  in  France,"  Lady  Dorchester 
went  on.  "  He  might  at  least  make  a  brilliant  reputation.  Can 
you  not  rouse  his  ambition  ?  " 

"I  doubt  if  it  needs  rousing,"  answered  Mrs.  Falconer,  with 
self-possession.  "  Mr.  Stanhope  says  that  the  secret  of  his  appar- 
ent indifference  lies  in  the  fact  that  he  has  a  great  deal  of  ambi- 
tion and  no  field  for  its  exercise." 

"  Mr.  Stanhope  !  "  repeated  Lady  Dorchester,  diverted  to  a  new 
train  of  thought.  "  That  is  your  clever  friend  who  writes  social 
studies  full  of  delicate  satire.  What  an  oversight  it  was  on  my 
part  not  to  have  had  him  here  this  evening!  " 

"  Your  party  is  very  well  balanced  as  it  is,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer. 
And  to  herself  she  said  that  she  was  for  once  glad  of  Stanhope's 
absence.  It  was  within  the  bounds  of  possibility  that  she  might 
have  felt  some  constraint  had  he  been  present,  his  keen  glance 
upon  the  Marquis  and  herself;  for  her  intentions  were  still  an 
enigma  which  she  was  not  able  to  solve. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  gentlemen  appeared,  and  soon  after 
Lady  Dorchester  crossed  the  room  over  to  Irene,  who  was  smiling 
into  the  broad,  good-humored  countenance  of  Colonel  Bevis  and 
listening  to  an  account  of  a  fox-hunt  on  the  Campagna.  "  I  am 
sure  you  would  like  it,"  he  was  saying  in  conclusion ;  "you  look 
just  the  sort  of  girl  to  ride  well  and  to  enjoy  riding." 

"  Do  I  ? "  she  said,  with  a  soft  laugh.  "  But  I  don't  ride  at  all 
— I  have  never  had  the  opportunity — though  I  am  sure  I  should 
like  it  very  much.  I  think  that  to  gallop  over  the  Campagna — 
which  is  so  wild,  so  free— would  be  delightful!  " 

"  Suppose  you  try  it  —  "  the  Colonel  was  beginning,  when  Lady 
Dorchester  interposed : 

"  Miss  Lescar  does  something  much  better  than  ride,  Henry. 
She  sings  like  an  angel — or,  rather,  like  a  prima  donna,  for  we 
don't  know  much  about  angels — and  she  is  going  to  sing  for  us 
now ;  are  you  not,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  if  you  wish  it,"  answered  Irene. 

She  rose  at  once  and  went  to  the  piano,  but  Colonel  Bevis, 
who  accompanied  her,  said  confidentially  as  he  opened  the  instru- 
ment: 

12 


266  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"Singing  is  very  well,  and  I've  no  doubt  you  sing  like  a  thrush 
— which  to  my  mind  is  better  than  a  prima  donna — but  riding 
would  be  good  for  you ;  and,  if  you  feel  inclined  to  try  it,  we  can 
get  up  some  riding-parties,  no  doubt.  Mrs.  Falconer  rides,  I 
know,  and  my  wife  is  very  fond  of  it." 

"It  would  be  charming,  if  you  think  I  could  ride  without  les- 
sons," said  Ir&ne. 

"  Oh,  I  could  teach  you  all  that  is  essential  very  soon,  and  I 
am  sure  M.  le  Marquis  would  take  a  hand  in  conducting  your  ed- 
ucation. He  is  a  crack  rider,  though  he  is  a  Frenchman.  I  have 
seen  him  in  two  or  three  steeple-chases." 

"It  will  not  do  to  count  on  his  kindness,"  said  Irene;  "but 
you  are  very  good,  and  I  am  going  to  sing  something  specially  for 
you.  "What  do  you  like  best? " 

"  "Well,  a  hunting-song,  if  you  know  any." 

She  smiled,  and  struck  the  ringing  chords  of  a  Tyrolean  hunt- 
ing-song, judging  that  it  would  please  him.  It  not  only  pleased 
him,  but  it  electrified  the  whole  company,  for  it  was  astonishing 
how  deep  and  rich  and  powerful  her  voice  sounded,  with  what 
spirit  she  sang,  and  how  they  seemed  to  hear  the  hunters  coin- 
ing in  with  their  spoils,  to  see  the  wild  glens,  the  green  forests, 
the  far,  fair  mountain  heights. 

"  Wunderschon  /  "  said  Count  Waldegrave  when  she  finished 
— and  without  a  moment's  hesitation  he  walked  across  the  floor 
to  the  piano. 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  that  you  will  sing  a  German  song,  Miss 
Lescar,"  he  said ;  and  Irene,  turning  quickly  at  the  sound  of  his 
voice,  was  forced  to  own  to  herself  that  it  was  a  pleasant  smile 
which  shone  down  on  her. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  replied  in  a  more  natural  tone  than  he  had 
heard  from  her  before,  "  I  sing  many  German  songs.  They  are 
very  fine,  many  of  them :  no  one  can  deny  that." 

"I  am  afraid  that  you  would  fain  deny  it  if  you  could,"  he 
said,  smiling  again.  "  Yon  are  evidently  a  good  hater." 

"  I  can't  imagine  Miss  Lescar  hating  anything,"  said  Colonel 
Bevis,  regarding  her  with  frank  admiration,  "unless  it  very  par- 
ticularly deserved  to  be  anathema — and  then  I  fancy  she  would 
temper  justice  largely  with  mercy." 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  267 

"I  should  not,"  said  Miss  Lescar,  decidedly.  "Do  not  credit 
me  with  any  such  virtue.  Like  Count  Waldegrave,  I  believe  in 
an  iron  hand,  and  summary  justice,  for  ill-doers.  We  agree  on 
that  point,  at  least." 

She  looked  at  Waldegrave  as  she  uttered  the  last  words,  and 
what  was  it  that  he  read  in  the  brilliant  glance — a  gleam  of  defi- 
ance? It  conveyed  that  idea  to  his  mind,  and  puzzled  him  as  he 
had  been  puzzled  from  the  first  by  this  girl — so  gracious  and  gentle 
to  others,  so  repellent  to  him. 

"  But  I  do  not  believe  in  an  iron  hand  for  all  ill-doers,"  he 
said;  "  only  for  dangerous  revolutionaries,  to  prevent  the  spread 
of  mischief;  to  protect — as  M.  de  Chateaumesuil  put  it — the  ig- 
norant from  their  sophistries." 

"  A  very  good  thing  to  attempt,  but  you  can't  do  it,  you  know. 
The  more  ignorant  people  are,  the  more  determined  they  are  to 
be  deluded,"  said  Colonel  Bevis. 

"  We  must  not  drift  into  another  discussion  of  political  prob- 
lems," said  Waldegrave,  "  for  Miss  Lescar  is  here  to  sing." 

"  Yes,  I  must  sing,"  said  Irene. 

She  turned  back  to  the  key-board  and  after  a  moment's 
thought  began  the  " Lascia  cKw  pianga"1"1  of  Handel.  Its  noble 
breadth  of  harmony  suited  her  voice,  which  seemed  made  to  ex- 
press all  noble  things.  There  were  no  displays  of  vocalization  to 
arrest  attention,  but  a  flood  of  glorious  melody  that  seemed  to 
bear  her  listeners  on  its  tide  in  rapt  attention. 

When  she  finished,  and  the  applause— more  enthusiastic  than 
drawing-room  applause,  generally  —  had  subsided,  Waldegrave 
said  : 

"  May  I  beg  you  to  sing  a  song  now  for  me?  I  heard  you  sing 
'  Che  faro  sema  Euridice '  the  other  night,  and  I  have  desired  to 
hear  it  again  ever  since." 

She  hesitated — averse  to  acceding  to  his  request,  and  averse 
also  to  singing  that  particular  song.  It  was  so  associated  to  her 
now  with  their  first  meeting  in  front  of  the  Greek  marble  of  the 
Villa  Albani  that  she  would  not  have  sung  it  willingly  for  any 
one.  He  saw  the  hesitation,  and  said,  quickly : 

"Do  not  let  me  urge  anything  that  is  disagreeable  to  you. 
If  you  do  not  wish  to  sing  it — " 


2G8  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  feeling  that  some  explanation  was  necessary, 
"  it  is  so  sad !  And  I  realize  the  sadness  more  since  I  saw  the 
bas-relief  of  the  Villa  Albani.  Irrevocable  parting  was  never 
expressed  more  clearly  than  it  is  there." 

"  But  there  are  sadder  things  in  life  than  irrevocable  parting," 
he  said. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered ;  "  for  much  that  is  tender  and  fine  may 
go  hand  in  hand  with  that,  and  sweetness  as  well  as  bitterness 
may  remain.  Of  course  there  are  worse — many  worse — things  in 
life;  but  nevertheless  such  parting  has  in  it  the  sadness  of  death." 

Then,  perhaps  because  it  was  easier  to  sing  than  to  continue 
talking,  she  began  the  song  for  which  he  asked.  It  has  already 
been  said  that  her  voice  acquired  an  exquisite  pathos  in  its  strains. 
One  seemed  following  Orpheus  into  the  gloomy  realm  whither 
he  had  gone  to  seek  his  beloved ;  to  hear  the  passion  of  his  voice 
and  the  heart-piercing  entreaty  of  the  cry  that  startled  even  that 
lower  world : 

"  Euridice,  Euridice,  0  Dio  rispondi !  " 

Irene  had  never  sung  better,  and  her  voice  thrilled  the  inmost 
consciousness  of  those  who  heard  her.  "  It  seems  to  reach  the 
very  center  of  one's  heart,"  whispered  Lady  Dorchester  to  Mrs. 
Falconer.  "  I  have  never  heard  any  other  which  could  compare 
to  it  in  that  sympathetic  quality." 

Then  the  Marquis  went  to  the  piano  and  made  his  petition. 
"Would  Mademoiselle  Lescar  sing  for  him  Mignon's  song? 

"  You  must  surely  ask  for  that  because  you  know  how  much 
I  like  it,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  with  a  smile.  "  I  always  fancy 
myself  in  Mignon's  place— longing,  yearning  for  Italy." 

The  next  moment  she  was  singing  "  Know'st  thou  the  land?  " 
And  as  "Waldegrave  listened  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  heard  the 
beating  of  her  heart  in  every  cadence.  He  was  afraid  to  ask 
himself  what  it  was  that  he  felt  stirring  at  his  heart— what  flood- 
gate those  magic  tones  might  be  opening.  But  he  was  as  sure  then 
as  afterward  that  whoever  else  might  sing  this  song  for  him,  he 
should  always  hear  in  it  the  sound  of  Irene's  voice — a  voice  which 
spoke  not  only  of  the  real  Italy,  but  of  some  ideal  land  of  thought 
and  feeling  where  only  the  "  beloved  one  "  might  enter  and  dwell. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  269 

CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  day  after  Lady  Dorchester's  dinner,  Stanhope  and  Erne 
dropped  in  to  luncheon  at  Mrs.  Falconer's.  Her  house  was  the 
pleasantest  possible  for  this  kind  of  unpremeditated  visiting,  and 
Stanhope  had  quite  fallen  back  into  the  position  of  intimacy 
which  he  occupied  in  Paris,  though  he  had  resolved  against  doing 
so  before  coming  to  Rome.  Such  a  resolution  might  have  been 
kept  more  easily,  however,  if  Irene  had  not  made  a  member  of 
the  household.  But  having  this  interest,  this  responsibility  in 
common  with  Mrs.  Falconer,  how  was  it  possible  to  withdraw 
from  an  association  which  had  led  to  her  participation  in  it  ?  He 
felt  that  it  was  not  possible.  "  After  all,  there  will  be  time 
enough  to  step  back  when  she  becomes  Madame  la  Marquise,"  he 
now  said  to  himself.  "  Why  should  a  man  anticipate  evil  by  a 
single  day  ?  " 

He  did  not.  The  Roman  porter  soon  knew  him  as  well  as  the 
Paris  concierge  had  done,  and  Antonio  welcomed  him  with  the 
most  gracious  benignity.  But  Erne  did  not  share  these  friendly 
sentiments.  There  was  a  vague  jealousy  mingled  with  his  reluct- 
ance to  yield  the  position  of  ami  de  la  maison,  and  it  was  with  a 
sense  of  decided  vexation  that  on  this  day  he  found  Stanhope 
already  established  when  he  entered  the  drawing-room. 

Luncheon,  however,  was  as  agreeable  as  usual,  for  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner had  infinite  tact  in  harmonizing  difficult  elements,  and  there 
was  excellent  assistance  in  Stanhope's  unconsciousness  and  good 
spirits.  The  occurrences  of  the  evening  before  were  touched 
upon,  and  Mrs.  Falconer  spoke  of  the  riding-parties  which  Colo- 
nel Be  vis  had  lost  no  time  in  proposing  to  her. 

"  I  have  only  waited  for  the  spring  in  order  to  begin  riding," 
she  said.  "  But  about  Irene — of  course  it  is  for  you  to  decide, 
Mr.  Stanhope." 

"Is  it?"  said  Stanhope,  looking  at  Irene.  "I  am  afraid  I 
make  a  very  poor  guardian :  it  never  occurs  to  me  to  assert  my 
rights  of  authority.  But  I  see  no  reason  why  she  should  not 
ride.  It  will  be  of  benefit  to  her.  She  is  too  pale." 

"  It  is  what  I  proposed  long  ago ;  but  no  one  would  listen  to 
me,"  said  Erne,  rather  injuredly. 


270  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"  I  listened  to  you,"  said  his  cousin.  "  I  told  you  that 
later  in  the  season  we  would  ride.  It  is  later  in  the  season 
now." 

"And  I  told  you  that  I  did  not  know  how  to  ride — which  is 
as  true  now  as  it  was  then,"  said  Irene. 

"It  does  not  seem  to  weigh  with  you  now  as  it  did  then,"  he 
ohserved  in  a  quick  tone  of  reproach — that  tone  which  it  appears 
impossible  for  a  man  in  love  to  avoid  (however  little  right  he  may 
have  to  use  it)  when  he  sees,  or  thinks  he  sees,  others  preferred 
to  him. 

"No,"  she  answered,  quietly;  "because  things  are  different 
now.  You  have  heard  Mr.  Stanhope  consent  to  my  riding,  and 
Colonel  Bevis  has  kindly  promised  to  teach  me  the  essentials  of 
horsemanship." 

"I  might  have  done  that,  if  you  would  have  allowed  me," 
said  Erne,  still  reproachful.  "But  I  hope  that  Colonel  Bevis, 
whoever  he  may  be,  is  not  to  monopolize  you — that,  at  least,  I 
may  be  permitted  to  join  you  sometimes  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Lionel,  you  will  be  always  welcome,"  said  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner. "  Indeed,  I  have  set  my  heart  on  making  some  excursions 
just  with  yourself  and  Mr.  Stanhope— that  is,  if  you  would  like 
it  ?  "  she  added,  turning  to  Stanhope. 

He  met  her  eyes  with  a  smile  in  his  own.  "You  know,"  he 
said,  "  that  1  am  entirely  at  your  service." 

"  That  is  not  the  point,"  she  replied,  coloring  and  speaking 
with  slight  impatience.  "  I  asked  if  you  would  like  to  go?  " 

"  There  is  nothing  I  should  like  better,"  he  answered  then, 
with  promptitude  and  evident  sincerity.  "  I  fancied  that  went 
without  saying." 

Meanwhile  Erne  had  glanced  at  Irene  with  a  flash  of  pleasure 
lighting  up  his  face. 

"  I  shall  enjoy  that,"  he  said.  "  I  abhor  a  mob  of  people,  but 
&  parti  carre  is  perfect.  It  will  be  like  our  visit  to  Versailles. 
Ah,  shall  I  ever  forget  that  day !  " 

"I  am  sure  that  I  never  shall,"  said  Irene. 

"  I  have  a  picture  of  you  in  my  mind,  as  you  stood  on  the 
bridge  of  the  Petit  Trianon,"  the  young  man  went  on.  "  At  this 
moment  I  can  see  the  water  flowing  below,  the  shade  arching 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  271 

above,  and  hear  your  voice  as  you  sang  '  Ton  souvenir  est  toujours 
Id'1 — I  have  never  heard  you  sing  that  since." 

"  I  will  sing  it  for  you  whenever  you  like,"  she  said,  smiling. 

They  rose  from  the  table  soon  after  this,  and  returned  to  the 
salon,  where  Irene  walked  to  one  of  the  open  windows,  followed 
by  Erne.  As  soon  as  she  showed  herself,  half  a  dozen  tame 
pigeons  came  fluttering  to  the  balcony.  "  Please  get  me  some 
crumbs  for  them — ring  for  Antonio,"  she  said,  looking  back  over 
her  shoulder  at  her  companion.  When  the  crumbs  were  brought, 
she  stepped  outside  and  stood,  her  slender  figure  outlined  against 
the  deep-blue  sky,  with  the  snowy  doves  trooping  round  her  feet. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  stand  still  and  let  me  sketch  that  scene !  " 
exclaimed  Erne,  from  the  shadow  of  the  window-curtains.  "I 
have  just  been  talking  of  one  picture  of  you — and  here  is  another 
as  perfect!  Have  yon  any  drawing-materials?  A  bit  of  charcoal 
and  a  board  will  do." 

"  You  can  carry  it  in  your  mind  as  you  have  carried  the  other," 
said  she,  scattering  all  her  crumbs  in  one  lavish  shower,  and  step- 
ping back  into  the  room.  Then  she  looked  at  him  with  unexpected 
severity.  "You  certainly  possess  the  feeling  of  an  artist,"  she 
said.  "  Do  you  mean  to  play  with  it  all  your  life?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  replied.  "  We  have  talked  of  it  before, 
and  I  have  told  you  what  I  believe — that  I  have  feeling,  not 
power." 

"You  mean  that  you  have  not  diligence,"  she  said.  "You 
don't  like  drudgery ;  but  you  know  one  must  drudge,  if  one  ever 
means  to  do  anything  in  art.  You  have  the  true  artistic  percep- 
tion, but  you  will  not  work." 

"You  are  hard  on  me,"  he  said,  smiling.  "I  have  been  work- 
ing lately.  It  was  my  only  resource.  All  our  pleasant  excursions 
have  been  ended,  all  our  agreeable  intercourse  broken  up — so  I 
have  been  trying  to  console,  or  at  least  to  distract  myself  by  mod- 
eling in  clay.  I  came  this  morning  to  ask  if  you — and,  of  course, 
Mrs.  Falconer — will  pay  a  visit  to  my  studio  ?  I  should  like  you 
to  see  one  thing  which  I  have  just  finished." 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  go,  and  I  am  sure  Mrs.  Falconer  will 
be  also.  Why  don't  you  ask  her  ? " 

Thus  encouraged,  he  crossed  the  floor,  and  made  his  request. 


272  HEAET  OF  STEEL. 

Mrs.  Falconer  agreed  at  once.  "It  will  be  a  pleasant  occupation 
for  this  afternoon,"  she  said.  "I  presume  you  mean  to  ask  Mr. 
Stanhope?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  shall  he  happy  if  Mr.  Stanhope  will  come,"  replied 
Erne. 

His  tone  was  rather  indifferent,  but  Stanhope  only  smiled. 
"Fortunately,  I  am  not  thin-skinned,"  he  said  to  Mrs.  Falconer, 
as  the  young  man  went  back  to  Ir£ne,  "and  I  have  nothing  else 
to  do."  Looking  out  of  the  window,  he  added,  "When  the  visit 
to  the  studio  has  been  paid,  can  we  not  go  somewhere  else — to 
some  villa  or  ruin?" 

"  Certainly  we  can,"  she  answered.  "  You  have  only  to  select 
the  villa  or  ruin.  Meanwhile,  I  shall  order  the  carriage." 

The  carriage  was  ordered,  and  the  ladies  retired  to  make  some 
changes  of  toilet,  leaving  Stanhope  and  Erne  alone  together.  Since 
there  was  on  Stanhope's  side  at  least  good-humored  tolerance,  it 
was  he  who  spoke  first : 

"  I  have  never  heard  where  your  studio  is." 

"It  is  in  the  Eipetta,"  said  Erne.  "I  should  have  preferred 
the  Babuino  or  the  Margutta,  but  there  were  no  studios  to  be  had 
there — especially  for  the  limited  space  of  time  for  which  I  wanted 
one.  But,  though  the  Eipetta  is  not  a  popular  street,  I  like  it — 
especially  since  I  am  near  the  quay,  and  have  a  fine  outlook  over 
the  fields  beyond  the  Tiber." 

"  Ah !  "  said  Stanhope.  "  Is  there  not  a  pleasant  walk  in  those 
fields  behind  the  Castle  San  Angelo  ? " 

"Of  course  there  is,  and  one  can,  if  one  likes,  re-enter  the 
city  by  the  Porta  Angelica  under  the  shadow  of  the  Vatican." 

"  That,  then,  is  where  we  will  go,"  said  Stanhope,  with  de- 
cision, "  if  the  ladies  do  not  object." 

"I  imagine  there  is  not  much  danger  of  their  objecting  to 
anything  that  you  propose,"  said  Erne,  somewhat  sarcastically. 

"  To  become  a  guide  and  philosopher,  as  well  as  friend,  is  one 
of  the  melancholy  privileges  of  advancing  years,"  replied  Stan- 
hope, smiling,  as  he  might  have  smiled  at  the  petulance  of  a  spoiled 
child. 

A  few  minutes  later,  Mrs.  Falconer  returned,  and  was  soon 
followed  by  Irene,  when  the  party  set  out. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  273 

They  found  Erne's  studio,  as  might  have  been  expected,  very 
little  of  a  studio  in  so  far  as  that  term  applies  to  a  place  of  work. 
An  easel  was  there,  and  a  good  many  canvases,  but  on  these  were 
only  a  few  hasty  sketches  or  studies  of  color.  The  young  sybarite 
had,  however,  surrounded  himself  with  as  many  rare  and  beautiful 
things  as  if  he  intended  to  become  one  of  the  most  industrious  of 
painters.  Gorgeous  Eastern  stuffs,  rare  old  hangings  of  faded 
tapestry,  pieces  of  armor,  bits  of  mediaeval  carving,  made  a  pictur- 
esque melange  of  artistic  properties. 

"  Why,  Lionel,  you  must  have  ransacked  the  Ghetto ! "  said 
Mrs.  Falconer,  looking  round.  "  How  very  mean  of  you  to  have 
kept  all  these  delightful  bargains  to  yourself!  I  would  have  paid 
almost  any  price  for  some  of  these  things." 

"  They  were  not  much  of  bargains — if  you  mean  by  that  term 
things  that  one  gets  for  less  than  their  value,"  said  Erne,  laughing. 
"  The  old  Hebrew  rascals  from  whom  I  bought  most  of  them, 
made  me  pay  dearly  for  my  inexperience." 

"  You  must  have  spent  a  fortune,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  The 
things  are  worth  a  good  deal,  and,  of  course,  you  paid  three  prices. 
Confess,  now,  that  you  have  brought  us  here  simply  to  prove  your 
taste  as  a  collector !  " 

"  No,  indeed.  It  has  been  an  amusement  and  occupation  to 
select  these  things  at  intervals  during  the  winter ;  but  I  should 
never  have  thought  of  asking  you  to  come  to  see  them.  What  I 
want  to  show  you  is  of  more  value — at  least  to  me." 

He  walked  across  the  room,  drew  aside  a  curtain  of  Algerian 
stuff,  and  showed  a  bas-relief  executed  in  clay — a  life-size  head 
— which  made  them  all  start,  and  Mrs.  Falconer  exclaim, 
" Irene !  " 

It  was  indeed  Ir&ne.  Being  in  high  relief,  the  likeness  came 
out  perfectly.  Every  exquisite  line  of  the  delicate  yet  noble  face 
was  reproduced,  and  on  the  shapely  head  waa  lightly  laid — so 
lightly  that  it  seemed  as  if  it  might  be  lifted  off  by  a  touch — a 
crown  of  lotus-leaves.  The  beautiful  neck  and  shoulders  were 
finished  by  a  few  folds  of  classic  drapery,  while  the  oval,  con- 
cave surface  on  which  the  whole  was  modeled  was  surrounded 
by  a  wreath  of  the  same  graceful  foliage. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  think  that  I  have  taken  a  great  liberty,"  said 


274  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

the  young  man,  turning  to  Irene,  who  stood  silent,  with  a  height- 
ened color.  "  But — do  you  remember  the  day  we  were  at  the 
Villa  Albani?  The  resemblance  of  your  face  to  the  Antinous 
gave  me  the  idea,  and  I  could  not  banish  it.  So  I  got  some  clay, 
shut  myself  up,  and  here  is  the  result." 

"Ah,  the  Antinous!"  said  Stanhope.  "That  accounts  for 
the  crown  of  lotus-leaves." 

"Not  altogether,"  replied  Erne.  "Association  suggested  it, 
but  the  more  I  thought,  the  more  appropriate  it  seemed.  Genius 
should  always  be  crowned  with  the  divine  tree  of  the  gods." 

"Pray  do  not  make  me  absurd,  Mr.  Erne!"  said  Irene, 
quickly. 

"  There  was  also  another  reason  which  made  it  appropriate," 
said  he,  turning  to  her  and  speaking  in  a  lower  tone.  "  The 
leaves  of  the  lotus  closely  resemble  those  of  the  nettle — a  plant, 
as  you  may  be  aware,  which  no  man  dare  touch." 

"  That  is  very  revengeful  of  you,"  said  she,  betrayed  into  a 
smile  ;  "but  I  would  much  rather  be  considered  a  nettle  on  suf- 
ficient grounds  than  a  genius  on  insufficient  ones." 

"  And  is  it  possible  that  you  had  no  sitting? "  asked  Stanhope. 
"  It  is  an  astonishingly  good  likeness." 

"  Miss  Lescar  can  tell  whether  or  not  I  have  had  a  sitting," 
answered  Erne.  "  I  had  only  my  recollection  of  her  face,  and  a 
photograph  which  I  stole." 

"  You  have  succeeded  admirably,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  I 
really  think  you  had  better  abandon  paint  and  devote  yourself  to 
clay." 

"  That  is  decidedly  my  opinion,"  said  Stanhope. 

"  And  mine,"  said  Irene,  at  whom  Erne  looked.  "  I  wish 
you  had  chosen  another  subject — but  this  proves  your  power." 

"  I  could  not  have  proved  it  with  another  subject,"  said  he,  in 
a  low  tone. 

It  was  true.  Love,  the  great  inspirer,  had  stood  by  him  as  he 
worked,  and  the  result  was  due  to  that  inspiration  more  than  to 
anything  else.  Talent  and  technical  skill  had  been  the  servants 
to  do  its  bidding — but  only  the  servants.  Nevertheless,  the 
achievement  was  so  striking  that  Stanhope  felt  he  had  not  before 
done  justice  to  the  young  man's  ability. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  275 

"I  have  thought  him  a  mere  dilettante,  dabbling  with  art; 
but  this  shows  that  he  is  an  artist,"  he  said  aside  to  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner. 

"  It  is  amazingly  good,"  she  answered.  "  I  am  really  as  much 
surprised  as  you  are.  It  is  not  only  an  admirable  likeness  of 
Irene,  but  it  is  fine  ideal  work.  I  should  like  to  see  it  in  marble. 
"Was  it  not  Thorwaldsen  who  said  that '  clay  is  birth,  plaster  death, 
and  marble  the  resurrection '  ? — You  will  have  it  executed  in  mar- 
ble, will  you  not,  Lionel?  " 

"  If  Miss  Lescar  does  not  object,"  replied  Erne,  with  an  ap- 
pealing glance  at  Ir&ue. 

"  Nonsense!  "  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  ""Why  should  she  object? 
If  I  had  such  a  face,  I  should  be  glad  to  have  it  wrought  into 
something  enduring,  something  almost  imperishable.  Do  you 
remember  '  Praxiteles  to  Phryne  '  ? — 

1  Phryne,  thy  human  lips  shall  pale, 

Thy  rounded  limbs  decay, 
Nor  love  nor  prayers  can  aught  avail 
To  bid  thy  beauty  stay  ; 

'  But  there  thy  smile  for  centuries 

On  marble  lips  shall  live — 
For  Art  can  grant  what  Love  denies, 
And  fix  the  fugitive.'  " 

Erne's  eyes  gave  a  quick  flash.  "  I  have  thought  of  that 
poem  often  since  I  have  been  at  work,"  he  said.  "  Again  and 
again  I  have  repeated  to  myself : 

'  And  there  upon  that  silent  face 

Shall  unborn  ages  see 
Perennial  youth,  perennial  grace, 
And  sealed  serenity.' 

Of  course,  it  came  with  a  better  grace  from  Praxiteles  than  from 
me,"  he  added  with  a  laugh,  "but  still  I  did  feel  some  exultation 
in  perpetuating  what  so  well  deserves  perpetuation." 

"Put  it  into  marble  for  me,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  That  will 
settle  Irene's  scruples,  if  she  has  any.  I  only  wish  it  were  a  bust. 
This  has  a  mortuary  suggestion." 


276  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"I  can  not  see  how  or  why,"  said  Erne;  "but  the  Antinous 
is  accountable  for  its  being  rilievo." 

They  talked  of  it  a  little  longer,  then  some  time  was  spent  in 
examining  the  "bric-d-brac  which  filled  the  studio,  and  finally  they 
went  out  on  a  narrow  balcony  which  commanded  a  view  of  the 
open  fields  beyond  the  Tiber,  and  of  the  massive  walls  of  the 
Castle  of  San  Angelo,  which  seemed  almost  to  overshadow  them. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Stanhope  to  Mrs.  Falconer,  "  that  those 
fields  are  the  Prata  Quinctia  of  Cincinnatus — the  site  of  his  farm, 
the  spot  where  the  messengers  from  Eome  found  him  leaning  on 
his  spade  and  requested  him  to  put  on  his  toga  to  receive  a  mes- 
sage from  the  senate  ?  If  you  care  to  wander  over  a  spot  of  such 
historic  interest,  we  can  cross  the  ferry  here  and  walk  round  to 
the  Porta  Angelica." 

"I  should  like  it  very  much,"  she  answered.  "But  what 
shall  be  done  with  the  carriage?  " 

"  Send  it  to  St.  Peter's  to  meet  you." 

She  turned  to  Irene.  "Do  you  hear,  my  dear?  Do  you 
think  you  would  like  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  very  much," replied  Irene,  eagerly.  "I  have  been  long- 
ing to  cross  the  river  and  get  out  into  the  country  this  lovely  day 
— even  before  I  knew  about  the  farm  of  Cincinnatus." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  "  we  will  go." 

It  was,  indeed,  a  lovely  day,  and  after  they  had  crossed  the 
ferry  from  the  picturesque  Quay  of  the  Eipetta,  and  found  them- 
selves in  what  remains  of  the  "  Quinctian  meadows,"  all  the 
sweetness  of  spring — spring  in  Italy — seemed  to  meet  them.  The 
limpid  sky,  the  soft  fitful  wind  that  came  from  remote  distance — 
from  the  far  blue  hills  and  over  the  wide  grassy  sweep  of  the 
Campagna,  laden  with  faint  odors  of  the  blossoms  it  had  kissed 
in  passing — the  fresh  turf  which  their  feet  pressed,  the  flowers 
that  starred  the  fields  sloping  down  to  the  river,  the  ineffable 
charm  of  the  atmosphere,  all  touched  them  as  Nature  can  touch 
those  only  who  are  alive  to  her  influence. 

Erne  smiled  at  the  expression  of  enjoyment  on  Irene's  face. 
"  How  happy  you  look !  "  he  said.  "  And  how  little  it  takes  to 
make  you  happy !  " 

"  Do  you  call  this  little? "  she  asked  with  a  glance  of  surprise. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  277 

"What  could  one  have  more?  The  only  trouble  is  that  there  is 
too  much — one  can  not  take  it  all  in.  But  it  is  divine !  " 

She  paused,  and,  resting  her  arms  on  a  low  stone  wall,  looked 
across  the  fields  to  "  the  noble  river  that  rolls  by  the  towers  of 
Kome,"  to  the  great  mediaeval  walls  of  San  Angelo,  to  the  mighty 
dome  which  rose  beyond,  then  let  her  gaze  wander  over  the 
wide  scene  of  rolling  plain  and  villa-crested  hills,  of  the  gray -green 
of  distant  olive-woods,  of  far,  snowy  peaks,  of  almond-trees  blos- 
soming near  at  hand. 

"  I  am  glad  that  it  is  I  who  have  brought  you  here,"  said  Erne. 
"  At  least,  if  you  had  not  gone  to  my  studio,  we  should  not  have 
thought  of  this  walk." 

"  So  I  owe  you  two  pleasures,"  she  said,  tnrning  her  eyes  on 
him  with  a  smile — but  a  smile  which  even  in  its  sweetness  seemed 
to  set  him  at  a  distance.  "  The  visit  to  the  studio  was  a  great 
pleasure.  I  am  sure  now  that  you  will  be  a  famous  sculptor  some 
day." 

"  If  I  ever  am,  it  will  be  owing  entirely  to  yon,"  he  said — "to 
those  words  of  yours  in  the  Villa  Albani — and  to  my  desire  to 
copy  your  face  in  a  manner  worthy  of  it.  Do  you  know  I  have 
failed  entirely  with  paint?  I  could  never  make  any  likeness  of 
you  which  satisfied  me  at  all.  But  the  clay  lent  itself  to  my  fin- 
gers. I  worked  at  fever-heat  as  I  saw  your  features  coming  out 
under  my  touch.  It  was  like  creation.  I  felt  myself  almost  a 
Pygmalion,"  he  ended,  with  a  slight  laugh. 

She  took  no  notice  of  the  allusion,  but,  looking  away  to  where 
the  golden  sunlight  was  falling  on  the  cypresses  of  Monte  Mario, 
said  : 

"  I  am  glad  if  I  have  had  anything  to  do  with  it,  but  I  think 
you  must  be  exaggerating  in  order  to  give  me  pleasure — to  make 
me  feel  of  importance."  She  glanced  at  him  again  with  another 
swift,  sweet  smile.  "  One  likes  to  feel  one's  self  of  importance, 
you  know." 

"  Then,  Heaven  knows,  you  ought  to  be  satisfied  with  your 
importance  to  me !  "  said  the  young  man,  impulsively.  "  You  fill 
my  life — it  seems  to  me  that  the  thought  of  you  is  like  the  breath 
I  draw.  I  know  that  I  could  sooner  stop  breathing  than  cease  to 
think  of  you — to  love  you !  " 


278  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

It  was  done  —  and  a  moment's  dreadful  pause  followed. 
Whether  he  felt  most  relief  at  having  at  last  uttered  what  had  so 
long  burned  for  utterance,  or  most  apprehension  of  what  Irene 
would  reply,  Erne  did  not  know.  It  was  an  awful  second ;  but 
he  was  not  prepared  for  her  turning  silently  and  commencing  to 
walk  on  again  rapidly. 

"  Have  I  offended  you  ?  "  he  asked — one  long  step  carrying  him 
to  her  side.  "  1  am  sorry — but  at  least  you  might  give  me  one 
word." 

"  What  word  can  I  give  that  you  will  care  to  hear  ? "  she 
asked,  coldly.  "I  think  you  have  forgotten  yourself;  that 
is  all." 

"  Forgotten  myself !  "  he  repeated.  "  What  is  there  to  forget  ? 
I  have  loved  you  from  the  first  hour  we  met — if  you  have  not 
known  it,  you  are  unlike  all  other  women — and  you  have  so  en- 
tered into  my  life,  so  colored,  so  swayed  it,  so  revealed  not  only 
yourself  but  myself  to  me,  that  I  can  not  go  back  even  in  memory 
to  the  time  when  I  did  not  love  you,  any  more  than  I  can  imagine 
that  I  shall  ever  cease  to  love  you." 

"  Oh,  but  you  will !  "  said  the  girl,  stopping  abruptly  and  turn- 
ing her  face  toward  him,  her  eyes  full  of  an  expression  which  he 
had  never  seen  in  them  before — an  expression  of  one  who  sud- 
denly wakes  to  startling  knowledge.  It  had  been  one  thing  to 
put  this  love  aside  before  it  had  been  offered,  to  think  lightly,  even 
contemptuously,  of  it — but  it  was  quite  another  thing  to  see  a 
man's  passionate  heart  unveiled,  to  hear  his  tones— such  tones  as 
had  never  before  fallen  on  her  ear,  or  stirred  the  calm  of  her 
spirit.  The  first  words  of  love  spoken  to  a  woman  are  always  an 
era  and  sometimes  an  awakening  in  her  life.  But  to  Irene  they 
were  a  revelation.  She  had  read,  heard,  sung  of  it — this  strange, 
strong  passion  of  humanity — but  she  had  not  realized  it  until  she 
met  Erne's  eyes  and  heard  in  his  voice  the  echo  of  that  which 
filled  his  heart. 

"  Oh,  but  you  will !  "  she  repeated,  in  a  tone  of  earnest  asser- 
tion. "  It  would  be  terrible  if  I,  who  care  nothing  for  you,  should 
be  forced  to  make  you  unhappy." 

"  I  who  care  nothing  for  you !  "  It  was  impossible  for  words 
to  be  more  positive  than  these,  as  Erne  felt,  with  his  heart  sink- 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  279 

ing  even  lower  than  it  had  sunk  before.  He  had  known  it— oh, 
yes,  he  had  certainly  known  it ;  but  to  tell  one's  self  a  thing  of 
this  kind,  and  to  have  it  told  by  the  lips  of  the  person  beloved, 
are  different  matters. 

"It  is  true,  then,"  he  said,  despairingly;  "you  care  nothing 
for  me !  " 

"Not  in  the  way  that  you  care  for  me,"  she  answered.  "I 
thought  you  would  have  known  it." 

"I  did  know  it — I  have  always  felt  it,"  he  said.  "Instinct 
told  me  from  the  first  that  you  would  never  think  of  me.  But 
there  have  been  hours — I  was  mad,  I  suppose — when  I  have  said 
to  myself,  '  She  is  a  woman — therefore  to  be  won ! ' " 

"  But  that  is  what  I  am  not  to  be — neither  by  you  nor  any 
one  else,"  she  said,  haughtily.  "  Understand  that  once  for  all.  I 
have  heard — I  have  read,"  she  went  on,  a  little  wistfully,  "  that  a 
hopeless  passion  must  die.  The  best  kindness  I  can  do  you,  there- 
fore, is  to  make  you  believe  that  yours  is  absolutely  hopeless. 
You  have  been  my  good  friend,  and  I  am  grateful  to  you — but 
you  can  never,  while  we  two  live  upon  the  earth,  be  to  me  any- 
thing more." 

If  there  had  been  aoy  vanity  in  the  young  man  to  be  morti- 
fied, this  speech  would  certainly  have  stung  it  in  a  salutary  man- 
ner. But  on  this  point  there  was  none.  His  love  was  deep 
enough  to  be  humble,  and  these  words  in  their  pitiless  de- 
cision only  seemed  to  him  like  the  death-knell  of  all  hope.  He 
had  fancied  that  he  indulged  none— but  he  knew  his  mistake 
now. 

"  And  so,"  he  said,  huskily,  "it  is  over.  I  never  really  looked 
for  anything  else ;  and  yet — my  God !  can  it  be  that  I  am  to  go  on 
living  all  my  life  without  you  ?  " 

The  passionate,  painful  vehemence  of  his  tone  touched  the 
girl  to  the  heart.  She  made  a  step  nearer  to  him,  her  eyes  shin- 
ing like  stars  in  the  pale,  beautiful  face. 

"  Is  it  not  a  common  lot  ?  "  she  said,  her  voice  full  of  infinite 
gentleness.  "  See !  have  not  I  to  live  all  my  life,  whether  it  be 
long  or  short,  without  the  creature  I  love  best  ?  What  am  /  com- 
pared to  my  mother  ?  And  I  have  lost  her  for  this  world — ut- 
terly, hopelessly." 


280  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

It  was  a  singular  form  of  consolation  ;  but  Erne  never  looked 
for  Irene  to  say  the  things  which  other  people  said,  nor  would 
she  have  been  Irene  if  she  had.  He  could  not  point  out  to  her 
that  his  eager  passion  was  different  in  its  demands  from  the  love 
of  which  she  spoke.  He  could  only  say : 

"  Death  is  different.  One  must  resign  one's  self  to  that.  But 
to  know  that  you  are  living,  and  that  some  day  you  will — you 
must — love  some  other  man — " 

A  change  came  over  her  face  that  almost  startled  him.  It 
seemed  in  an  instant  to  harden,  to  grow  cold. 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you  a  moment  ago  that  such  a  thing  is  not 
possible  ?  "  she  demanded.  "  Do  you  imagine  that  I  am  talking 
idly  ;  that  I  have  not  reason  for  what  I  say  ?  " 

"  I  imagine  that  you  do  not  know  yourself,"  he  answered ; 
"  that  your  heart  is  not  yet  awakened,  and  that  you  have  no  idea 
of  the  power  of  love." 

"  It  is  you  who  are  talking  of  something  which  you  do  not 
understand,"  she  replied,  coldly.  And  then  she  turned  once  more 
and  walked  on. 

He  walked  silently  by  her  side,  moving  as  in  a  dream  through 
the  scene  that  had  been  so  full  of  charm  a  little  while  before. 
Now  all  the  sunny  beauty  of  the  day  was  wholly  eclipsed  for  him. 
He  put  out  his  hand  mechanically  and  broke  off  a  branch  of  al- 
mond-blossom that  hung  over  a  wall.  To  the  end  of  his  life  he 
will  abhor  the  sight  of  an  almond-tree  in  bloom.  Far  ahead  Mrs. 
Falconer  and  Stanhope  were  loitering  along.  It  was  like,  yet 
how  unlike,  that  day  at  Versailles  of  which  he  had  spoken ! 

"  Ton  souvenir  est  tovjours  Id,"  he  said  at  last,  abruptly.  "It 
seemed  a  prophecy. " 

Irene  looked  at  him.  Her  anger  had  been  short-lived,  for  her 
eyes  now  expressed  only  compassionate  regret.  "  I  hope  that  it 
will  not  prove  a  prophecy,"  she  said.  "  Why  should  you  remem- 
ber me  ?  I  have  played  a  very  small  part  in  your  life." 

"  I  do  not  seem  to  have  known  any  other  life,"  he  answered. 
"  "What  did  I  tell  you  a  moment  ago  ?  You  have  been  a  revelation 
to  me.  I  have  amused  myself  with  sentiment  and  even  passion 
many  times,  but  I  never  before  knew  what  it  was  to  have  my 
days  and  nights  filled  with  the  memory  of  one  face,  the  sound  of 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  281 

one  voice.  "When  I  am  with  you,  I  feel  that  I  could  accomplish 
anything.  Every  faculty  that  I  have  is  quickened,  every  power 
intensified.  You  are  a  perpetual  inspiration.  "With  you  I  could 
rise  to  any  height.  But  without  you — "  he  snapped  the  almond- 
branch  in  two  and  flung  it  away — "  I  shall  be  like  that,"  he  said, 
"  broken  and  useless." 

"  You  exaggerate,"  she  said,  earnestly.  "  I  hope  and  trust 
that  you  exaggerate,  for  it  would  be  terrible  and — "  she  hesitated, 
she  had  almost  said  "contemptible" — "unworthy,  if  a  man's 
achievement  in  life  depended  on  whether  or  not  a  woman  loved 
him." 

"You  are  not  like  any  other  woman,"  he  said.  "Have  you 
not  learned  that  ?  "When  one  has  known  you,  all  other  women 
have  lost  their  charm.  And  so  " — he  looked  at  the  walls  of  the 
Leonine  City,  which  they  were  approaching — "  I  am  willing  to  bo 
anything  you  will  permit,  rather  than  lose  you  utterly.  Except 
in  moments  of  madness,  I  have  never  dreamed  of  winning  you  ; 
so  I  shall  try  to  be  content  if  you  will  let  me  remain  your  friend 
—see  you,  be  with  you,  as  I  have  been." 

"  I  should  be  sorry  if  there  were  any  change  in  our  inter- 
course," she  answered ;  "  but  if  I  promise  to  forget  all  this,  you 
must  promise  on  your  part  to  forget  also — never  to  speak  of  it 
again." 

He  shook  his  head.  "  I  can  not  promise  the  first,"  he  said. 
"  It  would  be  as  easy  to  forget  that  I  exist.  But  not  to  speak  of  it 
again — well,  that  is  in  my  power.  I  promise  that,  if  you  in- 
sist." 

"  I  do  insist,"  she  srad,  quickly.  "And  oh  I  I  do  beg  you,  try 
to  forget!  Believe  me  when  I  tell  you  that  you  are  wasting 
every  thought  which  you  give  me." 

The  passionate  earnestness  of  her  manner  carried  conviction 
with  it.  Erne  was  no  more  disposed,  than  most  men  would  have 
been  in  his  place,  to  believe  that  a  young  and  beautiful  woman 
meant  what  she  said  when  she  talked  of  love  as  a  possibility  hav- 
ing no  place  in  her  life.  But  he  could  not  doubt  Irene.  What- 
ever revelation  the  future  might  bring  to  her,  she  meant  all  that 
she  said  now. 

There  was   no    opportunity  for   further  conversation,  since 


282  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

Mrs.  Falconer  and  Stanhope  were  waiting  for  them,  lingering 
outside  the  Porta  Angelica.  A  few  words  were  exchanged,  and, 
when  they  entered  the  city,  the  division  of  the  party — whether 
by  accident  or  design  was  not  clearly  apparent — altered.  Erne 
walked  on  with  his  cousin ;  Stanhope  fell  back  with  Irene. 

She  thought  that  she  had  never  before  appreciated  what  a 
pleasant  companion  he  was.  He  made  no  demand  upon  her  atten- 
tion, for  his  keen  glance  detected  that  something  had  moved  her 
— and  it  was  not  difficult  to  imagine  what  it  had  been.  "  The 
young  fool  has  spoken,"  he  thought;  but  he  went  on  talking 
easily,  and  in  a  manner  which  needed  no  reply,  about  the  pictur- 
esque antiquity  of  the  Borgo,  through  which  they  were  passing, 
beneath  the  walls  of  the  Vatican  garden. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "  the  meaning  of  the  name  '  Borgo  '  ? 
There  was  a  Saxon  settlement  here  called  Burgus  Saxonum, 
founded  by  a  certain  Ina,  King  of  Wessex  in  the  eighth  century. 
When  Pope  Leo  IV  inclosed  this  part  of  the  city,  it  obtained  the 
name  of  Borgo,  from  the  Burgus  Saxonum — and  holds  it  to  this 
day." 

"What  a  place  it  is— this  city  of  Rome!  "  said  Irene.  "Is 
there  a  foot  of  its  earth  which  has  not  some  far-reaching  his- 
tory ? " 

Stanhope  smiled ;  and,  not  unwilling  to  divert  her  mind,  began 
— it  was  something  very  unusual  with  him — to  quote : 

" '  Rome !  what  a  scroll  of  history  thine  has  been ! 
In  the  first  days  thy  sword  republican 
Ruled  the  whole  world  for  many  an  age's  span : 

Then  of  thy  peoples  thou  wert  crowned  queen, 

Till  in  thy  streets  the  bearded  Goth  was  seen ; 
And  now  upon  thy  walls  the  breezes  fan 
(Ah,  city  crowned  by  God,  discrowned  by  man !) 

The  hated  flag  of  red  and  white  and  green. 

When  was  thy  glory  ?     When  in  search  for  power 
Thine  eagles  flew  to  greet  the  double  sun, 
And  all  the  nations  trembled  at  thy  rod  ? 

Nay,  but  thy  glory  tarried  for  this  hour, 
When  pilgrims  kneel  before  the  Holy  One, 
The  prisoned  shepherd  of  the  Church  of  God.' " 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  233 

"How  beautiful!  "  said  the  girl,  glancing  up  at  him  with  eyes 
into  which  quick  tears  had  sprung.  "  And  how  true !  Who  wrote 
it,  Mr.  Stanhope  ?  I  wish  I  could  think  that  you  did." 

"  I  never  wrote,  or  attempted  to  write,  a  sonnet  in  my  life," 
said  Stanhope,  "  though  I  should  not  have  been  sorry  to  write 
that.  I  am  not  a  Catholic,  but  I  hope  I  have  some  idea  of  justice, 
and  there  has  never  been  a  more  unjust  outrage  since  the  world 
began,  than  the  occupation  of  Borne  by  the  Italian  Government." 

"I  am  glad  that  you  think  so,"  said  Ire"ne,  "for  many  people 
— Anglo-Saxon  people,  I  mean — seem  blinded  to  the  plain  justice 
of  the  matter  by  an  inheritance  of  prejudice.  But  it  does  not 
trouble  Catholics.  We  feel,  indeed,  all  the  insults  and  indignities 
and  dangers  to  which  the  Holy  Father  is  subjected,  but  we  know, 
with  absolute  certainty,  what  will  be  the  result.  If  we  had  not 
faith,  history  would  tell  us.  Do  you  remember  the  Ion-mot  of  M. 
Thiers,  when  the  Empress  Eugenie  asked  him  what  he  thought 
of  the  Roman  question  ?  '  I  confess  that  I  am  not  a  good  Catho- 
lic,' he  said,  '  but  I  am  a  papist — because  I  have  read  history  and 
have  learned  there  that  all  who  have  eaten  of  the  Pope  hate  died 
of  it."1  For  me,"  she  went  on,  "  I  have  only  to  look  from  the 
Janiculum  to  the  Palatine,  to  feel  that,  when  Csesar  matches  him- 
self against  God,  the  end — whether  delayed  for  a  longer  or  a 
shorter  time — is  certain.  No  scepter  is  strong  enough  to  break 
the  staff  of  Peter." 

"  You  remind  me  of  a  passage  from  the  great  French  preacher 
Lacordaire,  which  M.  de  Chateaumesnil  is  fond  of  quoting,"  said 
Stanhope.  "  You  may  probably  know  it.  He  describes  how 
Caesar,  having  failed  to  overthrow  the  papacy  by  force,  comes  and 
offers  to  share  his  purple  with  it ;  and  the  answer  is :  '  Keep  thy 
purple,  O  Csesar!  To-morrow  we  will  bury  thee  in  it,  and  chant 
over  thee  the  Alleluia  and  the  De  Profundw,  which  never  change.' 
Ages  hence,  when  the  kingdom  of  Italy  is  a  forgotten  name  in 
history,  I  doubt  not  the  Pope  will  still  be  reigning  in  this  Eternal 
City." 

As  he  uttered  the  last  words,  they  turned  into  the  great  Piazza 
of  St.  Peter's,  with  its  wide-spreading  colonnades  and  springing 
fountains,  and  the  tall  obelisk,  like  a  tongue  of  flame,  bearing  the 
cross  upon  its  summit.  A  few  carriages  were  scattered  over  its 


284  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

wide  expanse,  a  few  figures  could  be  seen,  like  ants,  ascending  or 
descending  the  steps  of  the  church.  But  these  served  to  increase 
rather  than  diminish  the  sense  of  majestic  space.  As  they  ad- 
vanced up  this  noble  court,  with  the  soft  murmur  of  the  flashing 
fountains  growing  more  distinct,  and  from  the  sweeping  colon- 
nades colossal  statues  of  saints  and  apostles  looking  down,  it  was 
impossible  not  to  feel  that  this  was  a  worthy  approach  to  the 
grandest  temple  ever  raised  by  man  for  the  worship  of  God. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

To  stand  on  the  steps  of  St.  Peter's  for  the  first  time;  to  give 
a  glance  back  over  the  magnificent  court  up  which  one  has  ap- 
proached, then  to  cross  the  wide  portico,  to  enter  the  vestibule, 
where  fitly  stand  statues  of  Constantino  and  Charlemagne — he- 
roic figures  of  the  Church's  great  political  benefactors— then,  with 
a  beating  heart,  to  lift  the  heavy  leathern  curtain  and  gaze  on  the 
glory  of  the  interior — this  is  a  moment  in  life  never  to  be  for- 
gotten. 

Yet  it  seemed  to  IrSne  as  if ,  in  a  measure,  this  moment  was 
renewed  for  her  whenever  she  put  that  curtain  aside,  and  the 
splendor  of  the  great  church  burst  on  her  sightr-for  it  is  no  more 
possible  to  carry  St.  Peter's  in  the  memory  than  to  realize  its 
vastness  when  within  it.  Each  time  the  resplendent  beauty, 
which  is  like  nothing  else  earthly,  dazzled  her  afresh.  Light, 
majesty  of  space,  richness  of  color,  magnificence  of  decoration  sur- 
passing description — these  are  the  things  that  strike  the  eye  as 
soon  as  the  threshold  is  passed.  And  with  every  step  the  scene 
of  awe  and  wonder  deepens.  The  floor  spreads  away,  a  sea  of 
glistening  marble.  Massive  pillars,  rich  with  sculptured  entabla- 
ture, support  the  lofty  arches  which  disclose  the  broad  aisles  be- 
yond the  nave  and  the  chapels  opening  into  them,  with  their 
sumptuous  altars  and  solemn  tombs  and  pictures  of  imperishable 
mosaic.  Far  under  the  center  of  the  soaring  dome,  a  circle  of 
gleaming  stars  marks  the  heart  of  the  great  temple.  Those  are 
the  never-dying  lamps  before  the  tomb  of  the  Apostles.  And 
farther  still,  beyond  the  baldacchino  of  bronze  which,  though  high 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  285 

as  the  roof  of  the  Farnese  Palace,  looks  a  mere  ordinary  canopy 
in  this  stupendous  edifice,  the  eye  discerns  a  distant  glory  of 
golden  light — as  if  heaven  itself  were  opening  into  this,  its  earthly 
portal.  "  L1  architecture  de  St.  Pierre  est  une  musique  fixee"  said 
Madame  de  Stael,  and  its  effect  may  indeed  be  likened  to  a  burst 
of  triumphant  harmony.  But  it  is  more  than  that — ft  is  an  em- 
bodiment of  the  Christian  idea.  It  is  architecture  inspired  by 
faith  and  adapted  to  the  needs  of  Catholic  worship.  Taking  the 
ancient  basilica  for  a  basis,  the  noble  arches,  which  open  such 
glorious  vistas  to  the  eye,  have  been  substituted  for  the  long  rows 
of  pillars,  in  order  to  reveal  more  fully  the  chapels  and  side-altars 
which  in  some  of  the  older  churches— notably  in  Santa  Maria 
Maggiore — are  partially  concealed  and  lose  their  dignity.  The 
dome,  which  rises  like  the  canopy  of  heaven  and  suggests  as 
little  the  thought  of  space  or  limitation,  is  a  sublime  and  exult- 
ing expression  of  faith  in  the  immortality  that  lies  beyond  the 
tomb ;  while  the  diffusion  of  light,  the  glory  of  art,  the  rich- 
ness of  wealth  brought  to  adorn  the  sanctuary  of  God,  together 
with  the  exquisite  proportion,  the  wonderful  blending  of  parts 
into  one  perfect  whole,  all  conspire  to  make  it  a  symbol  of  the 
faith  which  has  produced  it. 

Walking  up  the  grand  nave,  with  its  beautiful  pavement  of 
colored  marble  inlaid  from  designs  of  Giacomo  della  Porta  and 
Bernini,  with  its  vaulted  roof  coppered  and  gilded,  our  party  ad- 
vanced under  the  dome,  round  which,  in  letters  of  purple-blue 
mosaic,  runs  the  inscription,  "Tu  es  Petrus,  et  super  hanc  petram 

esdificabo  ecclesiam  meam,  et  tibi  dabo  claves  regni  crelorum  " 

and  beneath  which  lies  the  body  of  the  apostle  to  whom  those 
words  were  spoken.  Here  burn  the  golden  lamps,  like  faithful 
hearts,  here  stands  the  altar  where  only  the  living  successor  of 
Peter  can  officiate,  and  here  cluster  the  most  glorious  memories 
as  well  as  the  most  sacred  traditions  of  faith.  This  is  the  site  of 
the  oratory  founded  by  Anacletus,  Bishop  of  Rome,  who  was  or- 
dained by  St.  Peter  himself,  to  mark  the  spot  where  countless 
Christian  martyrs  suffered  in  the  circus  of  Nero,  and  where  St. 
Peter  was  buried  after  his  crucifixion  on  the  Janiculum.  Here 
Constantine,  at  the  request  of  Pope  Sylvester,  began  the  erection 
of  a  basilica,  laboring,  we  are  told,  with  his  own  hands  at  the 


286  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

work,  and  carrying  away  twelve  loads  of  earth  in  honor  of  the 
twelve  apostles.  It  was  at  this  time  that  the  body  of  the  great 
apostle  was  exhumed  and  reinterred  in  a  sumptuous  shrine.  To 
the  basilica  thus  founded  came  pilgrims  from  the  (then)  uttermost 
parts  of  the  earth.  There  came  the  proud  Emperors  of  the  East, 
TheodosiuS  and  Valentinian;  there  came  Cedwalla,  fair-haired 
King  of  the  West-Saxons,  praying  for  baptism ;  there  came  Ina  of 
Wessex  and  Carloman  of  France,  and  many  another  royal  pil- 
grim, until  the  greatest  of  all,  Charlemagne,  knelt  to  be  crowned 
by  Christ's  vicar.  And  there,  in  the  last  year  of  the  reign  of  Leo 
IV,  Ethelwolf,  King  of  the  Anglo  -  Saxons,  came  also  to  be 
crowned,  having  with  him  his  son  of  six  years  old,  a  child  who 
carried  from  the  apostle's  tomb  grace  to  make  him  blessed  in  his 
land  as  Alfred  the  Great  of  England. 

And  it  is  a  significant  fact  that  in  all  the  storms  which  have 
shaken  Koine,  in  all  the  invasions  to  which  it  has  been  subjected, 
this  ancient  and  sacred  basilica  has  never  suffered.  The  Goth, 
the  Saracen,  fierce  mediaeval  baron,  and  ruthless  emperor,  have 
done  their  worst  on  the  Eternal  City,  but  their  footsteps  trembled 
and  paused  at  the  shrine  of  him  to  whom  was  given  the  awful 
keys.  Hence  the  peace  that  broods  here  has  in  it  something 
majestic  as  well  as  serene — something  which  elevates  as  well  as 
soothes  the  spirit.  One  feels  the  steadfastness  of  the  everlasting 
rock.  What  does  one  more  storm  matter  to  the  Church  founded 
upon  it?  "Et  super  hanc  petram  aedificabo  ecclesiam  meain." 
Centuries  have  paseed,  unnumbered  storms  of  human  passion 
have  raged,  since  that  word  was  spoken,  but  lo!  the  old,  old 
Church  stands  firm.  "  The  gates  of  hell "  have  not  prevailed, 
though  they  have  had — even  as  to-day — many  a  brief,  seeming 
triumph. 

Irene  sank  on  her  knees  by  the  balustrade  where  the  deep- 
diving  stair  leads  down  to  the  crypt  below,  and  where  swing  tho 
shining  lamps.  The  others,  after  lingering  for  a  little,  passed  on 
and  left  her — Erne  had  parted  with  them  on  the  portico,  having 
excused  himself  from  entering.  She  was  glad  to  be  alone.  When 
she  entered,  her  heart  had  been  heavy  with  the  realization  of  the 
pain  she  had  been  forced  to  inflict,  with  a  penetrating  sense  of  the 
unavoidable  sorrow  and  difficulty  of  life,  with  the  memory  of  an 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  287 

old  yet  ever  new  wound,  and  of  her  own  lasting  bereavement. 
But,  as  she  knelt,  her  heart  grew  still,  her  inind  serene.  It  is  diffi- 
cult for  any  words  to  express  the  influence  of  the  spot.  Peace 
seemed  to  wrap  her  like  a  veil.  Now  and  then  a  light  foot-fall 
went  by ;  some  one  came,  knelt,  rose,  and  passed  away.  She  rose 
also,  after  a  while,  stood  for  an  instant  gazing  up  into  the  vast, 
solemn  space  above,  from  which  the  great  figures  of  the  evangel- 
ists look  down,  then  turned  and  moved  away  to  the  left,  aware 
that  Mrs.  Falconer  would  know  where  to  seek  her. 

And  half  an  hour  later,  as  twilight  shadows  began  to  gather  in 
the  mighty  transepts  and  under  the  lofty  arches,  Mrs.  Falconer 
touched  her  shoulder  as  she  knelt  on  the  pavement  before  the 
chapel  of  the  Blessed  Sacrament. 

She  rose  at  once  and  they  went  again  into  the  nave.  The 
lamps  around  the  shrine  were  more  like  stars  than  ever  in  the 
dusk — the  vast  church  stretched  away  until  lost  in  obscurity.  It 
seemed  a  solemn  world  of  ineffable  repose.  Presently  from  the 
shadow  of  one  of  the  immense  pillars,  near  the  tomb  of  the 
Stuart  kings,  a  figure  emerged  and  joined  them.  It  was  the  Mar- 
quis de  Chateaumesnil.  He  had  spent  the  afternoon  in  the  church, 
had  been  down  in  the  crypt  and  up  in  the  dome.  "  I  feel  as  if  I 
had  been  exploring  a  city,"  he  said,  with  a  smile. 

"  I  have  never  been  on  the  roof,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  Some 
day  I  must  really  go  ;  but  I  dislike  such  exertion." 

"You  will  be  well  repaid,"  he  said.  "The  view  from  the  top 
of  the  dome  is  fine  beyond  description.  One  can  liken  it  only  to 
the  pinnacle  of  a  mountain ;  but  what  mountain  has  Borne  at  its 
feet,  ancient  Latium  around  it,  the  Mediterranean  on  one  hand, 
and  the  Apennines  on  the  other !  " 

He  lifted  the  leathern  curtain  of  the  door  as  he  spoke,  and  a 
flood  of  light  met  them.  They  crossed  the  vestibule,  and  what  a 
sight  dazzled  their  eyes  as  they  paused  in  the  portico  at  the  head 
of  the  great  steps !  The  sun  had  gone  down,  and  a  reflection  from 
the  splendor  of  its  setting  was  flung  upon  the  sky  in  front  of  them. 
A  number  of  floating  clouds  had  caught  the  glory,  and  formed 
resplendent  golden  masses  upon  the  deep-blue  ether.  Against 
this  stood  out  in  bold  relief  the  battlements  of  the  Castle  of  San 
Angelo,  while  the  superb  angel  poised  upon  its  summit  looked  as 


288  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

if  he  had  at  that  instant  descended  from  the  open  heaven — as  if 
its  radiance  shone  still  on  his  outspread  wings  and  flashed  along 
his  gleaming  sword. 

"  Oh,  what  a  picture !  "  cried  Irene,  with  such  an  expression 
of  voice  that  the  Marquis  turned  to  look  at  her.  She  was  gazing 
at  the  scene  with  shining  eyes  and  parted  lips — herself  a  picture 
in  her  delight. 

"  It  is  not  often,  even  from  the  steps  of  St.  Peter's,  that  one 
can  see  anything  like  it,"  said  Stanhope.  "  One  might  fancy  all 
the  heavenly  host  upon  those  clouds." 

"  The  one  of  the  heavenly  host  whom  we  see  on  San  Angelo 
is  glorious  enough,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  What  a  figure  of  maj- 
esty ! " 

"  What  a  scene  altogether !  "  said  Stanhope,  letting  his  gaze 
wander  over  the  piazza  at  their  feet,  with  its  iris-tinted  fountains 
and  sweeping  colonnades.  "  A  fit  close  for  a  delightful  afternoon." 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  to  make  the  afternoon  specially 
delightful  ?  "  asked  the  Marquis. 

"  Nothing  of  importance,"  replied  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  We  went 
to  Lionel  Erne's  studio  to  see  a  riliew  of  Irene's  face  which  he 
has  just  finished — a  very  good  hit  of  work ;  then  we  walked  from 
the  Quay  of  the  Kipetta  to  the  Porta  Angelica,  and  then  we  wan- 
dered into  St.  Peter's.  Voild  tout!  " 

"But  the  'tout"1  comprised  several  very  pleasant  hours  for 
me,1'  said  Stanhope  ;  "  therefore  I  insist  upon  heing  permitted  to 
consider  the  afternoon  delightful." 

"I  am  sure  Mademoiselle  Lescar,  with  her  interest  in  every- 
thing natural  and  historical,  has  found  it  so,"  said  the  Marquis, 
turning  to  Irene. 

He  was  surprised  at  the  change  that  had  come  over  her  face 
since  he  looked  at  it  hefore.  The  radiance  had  faded  out  of  her 
eyes :  there  was  an  expression  of  pain  in  them.  She  was  thinking 
how  far  from  delightful  the  afternoon  had  proved  to  one  person 
— how  little  his  spirit  was  likely  to  be  attuned  to  this  sunset 
glory ! 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "it  has  been  very  pleasant;  but  this  is  glori- 
ous !  I  think  I  should  like  to  live  on  the  roof  of  St.  Peter's,"  she 
added,  glancing  at  the  Marquis  with  a  smile. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  289 

"  I  wish  you  had  been  there  with  me,"  he  said.  "  Yon  would 
have  enjoyed  it  greatly,  I  am  sure.  And  you  know  there  are 
many  people  living  on  the  roof." 

"Yes;  how  strange,  is  it  not?  Fancy  having  one's  dwelling 
on  the  roof  of  St.  Peter's !  But  probably  the  people  who  live  there 
never  think  of  it  as  strange  at  all." 

"  The  force  of  habit  accustoms  people  to  anything,"  said  Stan- 
hope. "  There  are  very  few  things  that  long  retain  the  sense  of 
strangeness,  and  certainly  a  residence  on  the  roof  of  St.  Peter's 
need  not  be  one  of  them." 

"  I  am  sure  it  is  large  enough  for  a  village,"  said  Mrs.  Falcon- 
er. "  Some  day  we  will  go  and  see  it,  but  now  we  must  go  home. 
M.  le  Marquis,  there  is  a  vacant  seat  in  my  carriage  if  you  care  to 
take  it." 

"  Many  thanks,  madame,"  answered  the  Marquis,  "  but  I  have 
a  voiture  waiting. — I  suppose  I  can  not  tempt  you,  mon  cher,  to 
share  it  with  me  ? "  he  added,  turning  to  Stanhope. 

"Yes,  you  can,"  answered  Stanhope,  "since  our  destination 
is  probably  the  same,  and  I  should  only  take  Mrs.  Falconer  out 
of  her  way." 

"Very  little,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  But  she  made  no  demur; 
so  the  ladies  were  put  into  their  carriage  and  drove  off  alone. 

Both  were  silent  for  some  time.  It  was  not  until  they  were 
crossing  the  bridge  of  San  Angelo  and,  glancing  back,  caught  the 
last  gleam  of  ligbt  on  the  angel's  sword,  that  Mrs.  Falconer  said, 
"  And  so  you  have  consigned  poor  Lionel  to  despair !  " 

"Did  he  tell  you?  "  asked  Irene,  looking  up  with  wistful  eyes. 
"  I  never  thought  it  would  be  so  hard !  I  feel  as  sad  and  guilty  as 
if  I  had  willfully  injured  him — and  so  sorry  for  him  !  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  sorry  for  him,  too,"  said  Mrs  Falconer.  "  He  is 
very  unhappy,  poor  fellow  !  But,  as  for  your  feeling  guilty,  that 
is  nonsense.  Never  did  a  man  rush  on  his  fate  with  more  cer- 
tainty of  what  it  would  be.  If  any  idiocy  in  love  could  surprise 
me,  I  should  be  surprised  by  his  conduct— for  he  knew  that  you 
cared  nothing  for  him." 

"  He  said  so ;  but  I  fancy  he  must  have  had  some  hope,  or  he 
could  not  have  been  so  disappointed,"  replied  Ir6ne.    "  It  is  dread- 
ful to  see  a  man  look  heart-broken — and  he  did." 
13 


290  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

" No  doubt  he  did,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  smiling;  "but  bis 
beart  will  mend — I  have  never  known  a  broken  heart  that  did 
not.  The  first  man  one  refuses — especially  if  he  be  very  much  in 
love  and  very  much  in  earnest — tries  one's  feelings  deeply.  But 
one  grows  accustomed  to  it  after  a  while,  and  learns  that  the 
wound  one  inflicts  is  only  skin-deep,  and  frequently  to  the  vanity 
rather  than  the  heart." 

"I  should  be  sorry  to  wound  even  vanity,"  said  Ir£ne. 

"  I  am  sure  you  would,  though  I  do  not  mean  to  imply  any- 
thing of  the  kind  about  poor  Lionel.  His  passion  is  genuine,  and 
his  unhappiness,  I  doubt  not,  very  keen.  But  he  will  get  over  it." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Irene,  "  I  suppose  one  gets  over  everything  in 
time.  But  that  does  not  make  it  less  hard  to  feel  that  he  is  suf- 
fering now — through  me" 

"  Why,  are  you  to  blame  for  his  suffering?  " 

"  Certainly  not ;  but  the  consciousness  of  being  blameless  can 
not  make  one  feel  less  the  sadness  of  giving  pain." 

"  Ah,  child,"  said  the  elder  woman,  "  I  wish  I  could  harden 
your  heart.  Not  enough  to  make  you  cruel ;  only  enough  to 
make  you  indifferent.  There  is  nothing  so  much  to  be  desired — 
so  safe,  so  pleasant— as  indifference  1  " 

"Dear  Mrs.  Falconer,  have  you  gained  it  yourself?  "  asked  the 
girl,  smiling. 

"  Not  entirely.  I  wish  I  had.  But  I  tremble  for  what  lies  be- 
fore you  in  life,  with  such  a  heart.  Sooner  or  later  it  will  cause 
you  misery." 

"  I  think  not,"  said  Irdne,  as  they  drew  up  under  the  portone. 
"  But  if  so,  I  shall  only  follow  in  my  mother's  footsteps." 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

"I  THINK,"  said  M.  de  Chateaumesnil,  settling  his  shoulders 
comfortably  against  the  back  of  the  small  open  carriage  in  which 
Stanhope  and  himself  drove  out  of  the  piazza  of  St.  Peter's,  "  that 
Mademoiselle  Lescar  is  the  most  interesting  person  I  have  ever 


HEART  OF  SIEEL.  291 

Stanhope  gave  him  a  quick  look.  "  Indeed  !  "  he  said.  "  How- 
has  she  proved  so  interesting  ?  " 

"  It  is  impossible  for  her  to  prove  anything  else,"  said  the 
Marquis.  "  Even  when  she  says  nothing,  the  expressions  of  her 
face  are  a  study,  they  are  so  full  of  thought  and  feeling," 

"  Humph  !  "  said  Stanhope. 

Besides  this  significant  sound  he  uttered  nothing  more  for  a 
minute.  He  would,  indeed,  have  found  it  difficult  to  express  his 
feelings— chief  among  which  was  a  sense  of  irritation  that  Mrs. 
Falconer  should  he,  as  it  were,  overshadowed  by  this  girl  she  had 
so  kindly  taken  under  her  charge.  Such  overshadowing  would 
have  been  trying  enough  in  any  case,  but  with  the  man  who  was 
her  avowed  suitor,  and  probably  her  future  husband — some  recol- 
lection of  Lady  Falconer's  warning  came  to  Stanhope  and  deep- 
ened his  annoyance. 

"  Mademoiselle  Lescar  is  certainly  not  an  ordinary  person," 
he  said,  after  a  moment ;  "  but  whether  the  expressions  of  her 
face  are  sufficiently  interesting  to  repay  your  study  of  them,  I  do 
not  know." 

Now,  he  is  a  master  of  social  dissimulation  who,  being  annoyed, 
can  keep  all  sign  of  it  out  of  his  voice.  Stanhope,  on  the  present 
occasion  at  least,  was  not  able  to  do  so.  His  tone  betrayed  his 
feeling,  and  made  the  Marquis  glance  at  him  with  keen  scrutiny. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  imply  that  I  had  made  a  study  of  Made- 
moiselle Lescar's  expressions  of  face,"  he  said.  "They  would 
strike  any  one."  Then,  after  a  short  pause,  and  with  a  slight 
smile :  "  It  is  as  I  suspected,  mon  ami.  She  is  more  to  you  than 
you  are  willing  to  admit.  Nothing  proves  love  like  jealousy." 

It  was  a  very  natural  inference ;  but,  being  so  wide  of  the 
mark,  it  only  served  to  increase  Stanhope's  irritation. 

"  Why  is  it,"  he  demanded,  "that  nothing  I  can  say  has  any 
effect  to  disabuse  you  of  this  absurd  hypothesis  which  you  have 
adopted  ?  IrSne  is  to  me  simply  a  girl  in  whom  I  feel  deep  inter- 
est, but  for  whom  I  have  no  shade  of  the  kind  of  feeling  you  im- 
agine. If  I  have  betrayed  any  jealousy,"  he  went  on,  forced  by 
his  irritation  into  candor,  "  it  was  for  Mrs.  Falconer.  Do  you 
think  that,  as  her  friend,  I  can  hear  a  man  who  holds  the  position 
toward'  her  that  you  do,  declaring  the  most  enthusiastic  admira- 


292  ,      HEART  OF  STEEL. 

tion  for  another  woman,  and  not  feel  that  he  ia  not  worthy  of 
this  woman,  unless  she  is  in  every  sense  supreme  to  him  ?  " 

For  an  instant  the  Marquis  was  too  much  amazed  to  reply. 
Never  before  had  he  seen  the  usually  imperturbable  Stanhope  so 
moved.  It  was  a  revelation  to  him,  as  well  as  an  astonishment. 
A  suspicion,  which  he  had  once  or  twice  entertained  before,  but 
which  had  of  late  faded  away,  returned  now  with  renewed  force. 
But  he  made  no  allusion  to  this  when  he  answered,  quietly : 

"  You  have  forgotten  one  or  two  things.  The  first  is  that  only 
the  unreason  of  a  woman  ever  requires  that  even  a  man  in  love 
shall  cease  to  find  attraction  in  other  women ;  the  second  is  that 
I  have  never  professed  myself  in  love  with  Mrs.  Falconer.  Ac- 
cording to  our  French  view,  that  sentiment  is  not  necessary  to 
the  happiness  of  marriage,  as  you  are  aware.  I  have  the  highest 
admiration,  the  deepest  respect  for  her  ;  but  that  passion,  which 
quickens  the  pulse  and  mists  the  brain,  I  have  not.  Nevertheless, 
I  am  ready  to  offer  her  my  honor  and  my  name.  In  that  sense 
she  is  supreme  to  me  ;  but  does  it  prevent  my  having  eyes  to  see 
the  exceeding  beauty,  the  spirituelle  charm  of  Mademoiselle 
Lescar?  " 

It  was  now  Stanhope's  turn  to  be  silent.  What  was  there  to 
reply  to  this  ?  Had  he  not  known  it  before  ?  No  doubt  he  had  : 
but  there  is  a  great  difference  between  knowing  and  realizing  a 
thing.  It  is  doubtful  if  he  had  before  thoroughly  realized  the 
calmness  of  the  sentiment  with  which  the  Marquis  approached 
Mrs.  Falconer.  In  fact,  it  had  seemed  impossible  to  him  that  any 
man  who  knew  her  well  could  regard  her  with  indifference,  and 
he  had  taken  for  granted  in  M.  de  Ohateaumesnil's  suit  a  degree 
of  warmth  which  it  now  seemed  did  not  exist. 

"If  I  had  known,"  he  said  at  last  in  a  tone  of  suppressed 
indignation,  "  that  it  was  so  entirely  a  mariage  de  convenance 
which  you  wished  to  make,  I  should  never  have  interested  myself 
to  speak  to  Mrs.  Falconer  in  your  behalf." 

The  Marquis  started  a  little.  "You  have  done  so?"  he 
asked. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Stanhope.  u  After  you  gave  me  your  con- 
fidence, it  seemed  only  a  matter  of  friendly  justice  that  I  should 
remove  from  Mrs.  Falconer's  mind  certain  prejudices  against  you 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  293 

which  I  knew  to  exist  there,  and  which  I  thought  I  could  re- 
move. It  was  simply  clearing  the  way  for  you — I  said  nothing 
which  could  be  interpreted  as  pleading  your  cause ;  nor  did  she 
give  any  hint  or  sign  how  she  would  receive  your  suit.  But  I 
am  sorry  now  that  I  did  so  much.  It  is  offering  an  indignity  to 
such  a  woman  to  regard  her  simply  as  a  figure  on  which  her  for- 
tune is  hung." 

There  was  a  deep  note  of  anger  in  his  voice  as  he  uttered  the 
last  words ;  but  the  Marquis  turned  to  him  with  a  light  in  his 
eyes  which  was  by  no  means  a  reflection  of  it. 

"  You  are  a  friend  indeed,  man  cJier  Stanhope  1  "  he  said, 
warmly.  "  What  a  friend  you  have  proved  to  me !  "What  a  friend 
to  Mrs.  Falconer  you  are  proving  yourself  now  !  You  are  right : 
it  would  be  an  indignity  to  such  a  woman  to  regard  her  simply 
as  the  figure  on  which  her  fortune  is  hung.  But,  believe  me,  I 
do  not  so  regard  her.  "Were  her  fortune  trebled,  it  would  not 
tempt  me  if  she  were  not  the  woman  she  is.  But — you  know  my 
position— you  know  that  I  could  not  marry  a  goddess  if  she  were 
without  fortune." 

"  And  Irene  Lescar  has  nothing  which  deserves  the  name," 
said  Stanhope,  looking  at  him  keenly. 

The  other  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Ma  foi,  I  have  never, 
for  an  instant,  thought  of  her  in  such  a  connection.  She  seems 
to  me  like  some  rare,  beautiful  creature,  quite 

' .  .  .  too  bright  and  good 
For  human  nature's  daily  food.' 

But,  whatever  her  attraction,  whatever  her  rank — of  which  I 
know  nothing — or  her  wealth,  if  she  possessed  any,  I  am  none 
the  less  bound  in  honor — the  more  since  you  have  spoken — to 
offer  myself  to  Mrs.  Falconer.  I  am  here  for  that  purpose,  and  I 
shall  not  delay  it  longer." 

He  spoke  with  decision;  and,  as  the  carriage  at  that  moment 
drew  up  before  their  hotel,  Stanhope  was  spared  the  necessity  of 
reply.  If  he  did  not  feel  very  cheerful  over  the  prospect  of  Mrs. 
Falconer's  probable  acceptance  of  the  Marquis — especially  since 
he  had  heard  such  an  exposition  of  the  sentiments  of  the  latter — 
he  had  at  least  a  sense  of  relief  in  feeling  that,  in  one  way  or  an- 


294:  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

other,  the  matter  would  soon  be  settled.  He  had  been  conscious 
of  a  weight  of  responsibility  since  he  had  taken  upon  himself  the 
duty  of  speaking  to  Mrs.  Falconer,  and  of  uneasiness  in  watching 
the  laggard  wooing  of  her  suitor,  which  pride — pride  for  Tier — 
had  prevented  his  quickening  by  a  word.  He  said  to  himself  now 
that  he  should  probably  soon  be  able  to  offer  his  congratulations 
to  the  future  Marquise,  and  find  some  excuse  for  leaving  Home ; 
since  the  place  in  her  salon,  of  which  he  had  once  spoken  to  Ma- 
dame Lescar,  began  to  appear  less  attractive  to  him. 

The  Marquis  did  not  fail  to  prove  himself  a  man  of  his  word. 
The  next  morning  his  card  was  brought  to  Mrs.  Falconer,  and,  as 
she  read  the  name,  she  felt  an  instant  conviction  of  what  was  be- 
fore her,  coupled  with  a  dismaying  sense  that  even  yet  her  mind 
was  not  made  up.  "  I  suppose  if  one  thought  for  ever,  one  never 
could  make  up  one's  mind  in  a  case  of  this  kind,"  she  said  to  her- 
self, u  unless — unless  one  were  in  love,  and  that  is  not  to  be  hoped 
for."  Then  she  turned  to  Antonio,  who  stood  respectfully  wait- 
ing. "  Show  M.  le  Marquis  in,"  she  said. 

A  moment  later  the  Marquis  was  shown  into  the  inner  salon 
where  she  sat.  Even  more  than  the  larger  drawing-room,  it  was 
filled  with  the  evidences  of  her  individual  taste  and  the  beauty 
which  only  great  wealth  can  command — not  magnificence,  but  an 
exquisite  luxury,  the  costliness  of  which  was  veiled  by  delicate 
refinement.  Flowers  in  bountiful  profusion  filled  the  jardinieres 
and  the  balcony ;  a  deep  sky  of  sapphire  looked  in  between  folds 
of  sweeping  silken  drapery.  The  graceful  figure  that  rose  from  a 
writing-table  seemed  made  for  such  surroundings. 

There  was  not  a  trace  of  consciousness  in  her  manner  as  she 
received  him,  yet  her  heart  was  beating  as  it  had  not  done  before 
since  her  girlhood.  "Was  she  really  again  on  the  brink  of  the 
awful  experiment  of  matrimony  ?  She  did  not  ask  herself  what 
force  it  was  that  was  driving  her  on:  she  only  felt  that  she  was 
driven,  yet  that  she  was  reluctant.  Never  had  her  liberty  seemed 
to  her  more  alluring  than  at  this  moment  when  she  was  almost 
prepared  to  resign  it. 

"I  hope  that  you  have  not  suffered  me  to  disturb  you,"  said 
the  Marquis,  with  a  glance  at  her  writing  materials  and  the  open 
page  of  an  evidently  unfinished  letter. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  295 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  answered.  "  My  epistolary  labors  are  rarely  so 
great  that  I  can  not  very  well  hear  to  be  disturbed  in  them.  I 
have  been  writing  to  Lady  Falconer ;  and,  by  leaving  my  letter 
open,  I  can  add  that  I  have  seen  you,  that  you  are  very  well,  and 
any  other  item  of  information  you  are  good  enough  to  furnish  me." 

If  M.  de  Chateaumesnil  had  been  in  the  Castle  of  Truth,  he 
•would  have  replied  that  he  hoped  before  his  visit  ended  to  be  able 
to  furnish  an  item  of  information  which  would  certainly  prove 
very  agreeable  to  Lady  Falconer ;  but  since  such  frankness  did 
not  commend  itself  to  his  approval,  he  replied  instead  that  his 
cousin,  hearing  of  his  presence  in  Eome,  would  argue  everything 
that  was  good  for  him. 

"I  am  not  sure  of  that,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  smiling.  "One 
does  not  always  argue  well  of  a  Parisian  out  of  Paris.  Do  you 
not  begin  to  think  of  the  Boulevards  and  the  Champs-Ely s6ea 
now  that  spring  has  come?  " 

"  Ton  are  thinking  of  the  average  Parisian,"  he  answered,  "  for 
whom  the  Boulevards  and  the  Champs-Elysees  make  the  world. 
But  I  am  not  a  Parisian  of  that  type — if,  indeed,  I  am  a  Parisian 
at  all.  I  am  a  Frenchman,  rather,  for  whom  Paris  has  now  little 
attraction." 

"  But,  whatever  her  misfortunes,  Paris  always  has  attrac- 
tions," said  Mrs.  Falconer. 

"  To  foreigners  and  to  some  classes  of  her  own  people — yes. 
But  not  to  those  who  know  her  well  enough  to  see  the  great 
social  deterioration  steadily  going  on,  to  be  pained  by  her  decad- 
ence in  every  respect.  Even  her  prosperity  at  the  present  time 
is  hollow — a  bubble  that  will  end  in  revolution." 

"  And  revolution  may  end  in  bringing  about  what  you  desire 
— the  restoration  of  stable  government." 

"It  may;  but,  as  I  think  I  have  said  to  you  before,  I  am  not 
sanguine.  It  is  difficult  to  see  how  any  government  is  possible 
with  a  people  educated  as  the  present  race  of  Frenchmen  have 
been,  in  infidel  doctrine  and  social  revolt." 

Mrs.  Falconer  never  liked  the  Marquis  so  well  as  when  he  was 
stirred  to  serious  feeling  and  serious  speech.  At  such  moments 
she  recognized  what  his  friends  meant  when  they  spoke  of  his 
abilities  and  deplored  his  forced  inaction. 


296  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"If  you  are  right,"  she  said,  "it  is  sad  to  think  what  dark 
and  evil  days  are  before  France.  But  it  seems  to  me,"  she  added, 
with  a  quick  impulse,  "  that,  however  dark  and  evil  they  may  be, 
no  man  who  sees  as  clearly  and  speaks  as  forcibly  as  you  should 
fail  to  do  all  that  lies  in  him  to  avert  them.  Forgive  me  " — the 
color  came  into  her  face — "for  saying  this.  It  has  been  in  my 
mind  a  long  time." 

"  Nay,"  he  answered,  "  you  must  let  me  thank  you  for  saying 
it."  Then,  after  a  brief  pause,  he  added  :  "  If  you  will  help  me, 
much  may  be  possible  to  me.  Mine  has  been  at  best  but  a  useless 
existence.  If  you  will  give  it  meaning  by  giving  me  yourself,  I 
may  accomplish  something  yet." 

It  was  a  happy  inspiration  which  prompted  him  to  choose  that 
form  of  speech.  No  other  could  have  touched  the  woman  to 
whom  he  spoke  so  deeply.  Indeed,  it  is  doubtful  if  any  other 
would  have  touched  her  at  all.  Certainly  no  offer  of  devotion 
could  have  done  so.  But  to  be  asked  for  the  help  she  knew  that 
she  could  give,  in  herself  as  well  as  in  her  fortune — to  know  that 
it  rested  with  her  to  give  meaning  and  usefulness  to  a  life  that 
even  yet  might  be  brilliant  in  the  eyes  of  the  world— she  would 
not  have  been  the  generous,  impulsive  woman  she  was,  if  this 
had  not  moved  her. 

But  her  self-possession  did  not  fail.  She  met  his  gaze  gravely ; 
only  the  soft  flush  which  had  risen  into  her  cheek  remained  there 
and  added  to  her  loveliness. 

"  I  am  flattered,"  she  said,  "  that  you  think  me  capable  of  so 
much.  Frankly,  I  am  sure  that  your  life  contains  many  possibili- 
ties of  honor  and  usefulness;  but — pardon  me  if  I  am  frank 
also  in  this — how  can  I  tell  that  my  influence  would  give  the 
definiteness,  heretofore  lacking,  to  your  aims  and  purposes  ?  " 

"You  may  be  sure  that  it  would,"  he  answered,  seriously,  for 
he  understood  her.  "  Will  you  permit  me  to  indulge  a  little  ego- 
tism ?  It  is  well  that  you  should  know  thoroughly  what  manner 
of  man  is  asking  you  to  share  his  life.  You  have  often  charged 
me  with  being  ennuye.  It  is  true  enough.  How  can  I  be  other- 
wise, when  the  days  come  and  go,  and  I  have  nothing  with  which 
to  fill  them  save  a  routine  of  motiveless  pleasures?  My  wander- 
ings were  pleasant  while  they  lasted;  but  I  am  not  a  savant  to 


HEART  OF  STEEL,  297 

bury  myself  in  antiquities,  nor  a  philosophical  student  of  human 
nature  like  our  friend  Stanhope.  I  grew  weary  :  I  said  to  my- 
self, '  I  will  go  home  and  take  up  life  again.'  I  went,  and  what 
was  there  to  take  up  ?  The  pleasures  I  had  exhausted  were  empty 
and  tasteless  to  me.  The  country  I  had  left  was  moving  faster 
and  faster  toward  socialistic  revolution.  I  did  not  find  it  easy  to 
look  on  at  such  a  drama.  Day  by  day  it  grew  more  hard  to  me. 
Old  fires  of  ambition  kindled,  while  above  all  was  bitter  pain  for 
France — pain  for  her  degradation,  pain  in  the  realization  of  my 
own  powerlessness  to  avert  the  evils  that  so  darkly  threatened 
her!  Yow  know  how  the  fashion  of  one's  life  is  to  ignore  all 
deep  emotion.  One  smile?,  one  shrugs  one's  shoulders,  one  utters 
a  biting  epigram,  perhaps ;  but  under  this  one  may  feel— mafoi, 
what  may  not  one  feel !  " 

These  words,  with  their  concentrated  yet  controlled  force, 
would  have  been  no  surprise  to  Stanhope,  who  knew  accurately 
enough  the  real  temper  of  the  man,  the  overmastering  bent 
of  his  mind  and  desire  of  his  spirit.  But  they  were  a  revela- 
tion to  Mrs.  Falconer  —  and  knowledge  warmed  to  keenest 
sympathy. 

"  Believe  me,"  she  said,  "  I  feel  for  you — and  for  France. 
You  miss  a  field  for  power,  a  career  for  ambition ;  but  she  misses 
one  who  would  serve  her  with  the  heart  of  a  patriot  and  the 
mind  of  a  statesman." 

With  a  gesture  as  graceful  as  it  was  respectful,  he  took  her 
hand  and  kissed  it. 

"You  would  be,"  he  said,  "an  inspiration  to  a  patriot,  a  help 
to  a  statesman.  And  you  are  right — every  man  who  can,  should 
make  himself  a  breakwater  against  the  tide  of  revolution.  Will 
you.  then,  take  this  poor  France  for  your  country,  and  help  me  to 
work  for  her ;  will  you,  if  the  turn  of  the  tide  should  ever  come, 
give  value  to  any  distinction  I  may  gain  by  sharing  it  1 " 

There  was  no  lack  of  earnest  feeling  in  his  tone — and,  there- 
fore, it  stirred  Mrs.  Falconer.  It  was  not  the  distinction  offered, 
so  much  as  the  help  demanded,  which  appealed  to  her.  Stanhope 
was  right  enough — within  certain  limits,  she  was  an  ambitious 
woman ;  but,  even  more  than  that,  she  was  a  woman  who  longed 
to  give  freely  of  the  abundance  which  was  hers.  Not  mere  ma- 


298  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

terial  abundance  only,  but  that  of  sympathy,  of  intellect,  of  heart. 
She  was  wise  enough  to  distrust  her  own  impulses,  however,  and, 
after  a  short  hesitation,  she  answered  gravely  yet  graciously : 

"  This  is  not  a  matter  which  should  be  decided  without  deeper 
thought  than  I  have  given  it.  The  happiness  of  both  our  lives  is 
at  stake— and  I  realize  it  clearly.  I  confess  that  I  am  touched— I 
-confess,  also,  that  I  am  tempted — by  much  that  you  have  said. 
But  I  must  have  time  to  consider." 

"  I  beg  that  you  will  take  as  much  time  as  you  desire,"  said  the 
Marquis.  "  Only  believe  that,  if  your  decision  is  what  I  hope,  I 
shall  feel  the  full  value  of  all  that  you  grant— and  remember  that 
I  am  in  your  hands." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke,  with  the  evident  intention  of  taking 
leave ;  but  at  that  moment  the  portiere  was  lifted,  and  a  radiant 
presence  stood  in  the  doorway.  It  was  Irene,  with  her  hands  full 
of  flowers. 

"See,  dear  Mrs.  Falconer,  how  lovely!  "  she  cried.  "I  am  so 
fond  of  wild-flowers ! — Ah,  M.  le  Marquis,  Ion  jour — are  you  fond 
of  wild-flowers,  too  ?  " 

"I  am  fond  of  everything  beautiful,  mademoiselle,"  answered 
the  Marquis,  smiling.  "  May  I  ask  where  you  found  those  ?  " 

"  Outside  the  Porta  San  Giovanni.  Mrs.  Vance  kindly  went 
with  me  to  Santa  Maria  Maggiore  this  morning.  Then,  after  hear- 
ing a  mass,  we  went  to  Santa  Croce  by  the  beautiful  Yia  di  Santa 
Croce.  Do  you  know  it? — along  vista,  with  such  glorious  dis- 
tances— the  Campagna,the  aqueducts,  the  mountains,  seen  through 
foliage  and  between  the  castellated  towers  of  the  old  walls!  It 
was  like  a  poem,  which  deepened  in  beauty  the  nearer  we  ap- 
proached the  basilica.  Then  I  begged  to  go  outside  the  Porta, 
and  I  gathered  these  flowers  under  the  arches  of  the  aque- 
ducts— after  which  we  came  back  by  St.  John  Lateran.  And 
there  is  nothing  in  Eome  like  the  view  from  the  front  of  the 
Lateran!  " 

Mrs.  Falconer  smiled.  "  I  think,"  she  said,  "  that  you  change 
your  mind  every  day  with  regard  to  what  is  finest  in  Home." 

"Oh,  no!"  said  Irdne,  quickly.  "I  admire  each  thing  in  a 
different  way,  with  a  different  feeling.  But  I  have  always  thought 
that  the  view  from  the  Lateran  is  unequaled.  Even  if  it  had  no 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  299 

history,  it  would  be  glorious ;  but  when  to  the  majestic  picture 
is  added  the  thought  of  all  its  memories,  I  feel,  when  I  am  there, 
as  if  I  were  listening  to  the  noblest  music !  " 

It  seemed"  as  if  she  had  brought  a  strain  of  it  with  her.  The 
light  in  her  eyes,  the  quick  thrill  in  her  voice — what  were  they 
but  an  echo  of  the  great  harmony  to  which  she  had  been  lis- 
tening? She  appeared  suddenly  to  remember  herself,  however, 
and,  with  a  blush,  moved  away. 

"My  flowers  will  fade  if  I  do  not  put  them  in  water,"  she 
said.  "  But  " — turning  again  to  Mrs.  Falconer — "  I  had  almost 
forgotten  that  we  met  Colonel  Bevis,  and  he  is  coming  this 
afternoon  to  arrange  a  riding-party  for  to-morrow.  I  told  him 
that  it  was  quite  impossible  for  me  to  go,  since  I  know  nothing  of 
riding ;  but  he  insists  that,  with  his  instruction,  I  can.  Do  you 
think  I  ought  to  venture  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  M.  de  Chateaumesnil  will  tell  us  whether  you  ought 
or  not,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer. 

"If  Mademoiselle  Lescar  does  not  attempt  to  go  too  far,  her 
first  lesson  might  be  taken  in  a  riding-party  as  well  as  in  any  other 
way,"  replied  the  Marquis;  "and,"  he  added,  looking  at  the  girl 
with  a  smile,  "  I  beg  to  offer  my  services  as  instructor,  if  at  any 
time  Colonel  Bevis  should  be  otherwise  engaged." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  she  answered.  "  Colonel  Bevis  himself 
proposed  some  such  arrangement.  He  says  that  you  are  a  '  crack 
rider.' " 

"  Which  is  no  light  compliment  from  an  Englishman  to  a 
Frenchman,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer. 

"He  is  probably  aware  that  my  education  in  horsemanship 
was  English,  rather  than  French,"  replied  the  Marquis.  "  But  I 
shall  say  good-morning,  madame,  with  the  hope  that  I  may  be 
permitted  to  join  the  riding-party  to-morrow." 

"  It  is  Colonel  Bevis's  party,  not  mine,"  she  answered,  as  she 
gave  him  her  hand ;  "  but  no  doubt  he  will  include  you  in  it." 


300  HEART  OF  STEEL. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE  Marquis  was  included  in  the  party,  and  some  one  else 
whom  Colonel  Bevid  consulted  no  one  about  inviting.  This  was 
Count  Waldegrave,  whom  he  encountered  after  leaving  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner and  asked  to  join  them,  with  a  comfortable  assurance  that 
such  an  addition  could  not  fail  to  be  agreeable  to  every  one.  He 
would  have  been  surprised  if  he  could  have  looked  into  the  minds 
of  three  of  the  party  and  seen  how  far  from  agreeable  it  proved 
to  them — these  three  being  Mrs.  Falconer,  Stanhope,  and  Irene. 
But  conventionalities  are  admirable  things  to  restrain  the  exhibi- 
tion of  awkward  feeling,  and  no  one  would  have  imagined  that 
the  party  was  not  thoroughly  harmonious  in  all  its  elements,  as 
they  rode  out  of  the  Porta  del  Popolo  en  route  for  the  villa  of 
Livia — this  having  been  decided  upon  as  a  good  objective  point 
for  the  first  excursion,  which  it  was  desired  should  be  short. 

"  We  must  not  take  Miss  Lescar  too  far  on  her  first  ride,"  said 
Colonel  Bevis ;  and,  although  Irdne  had  protested  against  being 
made  a  weight,  his  motion  was  unanimously  seconded.  "  Our 
next  excursion  shall  be  to  Ostia  or  the  hills,"  he  said. 

So,  to  the  Villa  Livia,  seven  miles  beyond  the  walls  of  Rome, 
the  party  turned  their  horses'  heads.  In  setting  out,  Colonel 
Bevis,  according  to  his  promise,  constituted  himself  Irene's  escort, 
and  the  ride  at  first  meant  for  her  little  besides  a  succession  of  brief 
instructions.  "Sit  square  in  the  saddle,  Miss  Lescar " — "right 
shoulder  too  far  forward  " — "  left  rein  too  short  " — "  keep  your 
hand  low  " — u  curve  your  wrist  easily  " — "  lean  slightly  forward 
for  the  trot" — "rise  in  your  saddle" — "so!"  But  riding,  no 
more  than  any  other  accomplishment,  can  be  learned  in  an  hour, 
and  like  every  other  its  first  steps  are  difficult  and  fatiguing ;  so  it 
was  a  pale  and  rather  wearied  face  that  Count  "Waldegrave  saw 
when  he  presently  fell  back  and  joined  the  last  pair  of  equestri- 
ans. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  tired,  Miss  Lescar,"  he  said,  with  such 
a  tone  of  kindliness  that  Irene  looked  at  him  gratefully.  She  was 
tired,  and  in  her  instinctive  acknowledgment  of  the  sympathy  she 
forgot  who  offered  it. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  301 

"  It  is  harder  work,  learning  to  ride,  than  I  imagined  it  would 
be,"  she  said. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  fatigued  you,"  said  Colonel  Bevis,  full  of 
self-reproach  at  once.  "  It  is  fatiguing  to  be  kept  too  long  under 
steady  drill.  Well,  we  will  take  things  easily  now  at  a  walk,  and 
all  you  need  do  is  to  keep  your  shoulders  square  and  your  reins 
properly  adjusted." 

"  That  means  a  good  deal,"  said  Irene,  "  since  my  reins  appear 
to  have  a  remarkable  faculty  for  adjusting  themselves  improperly, 
and  the  worst  of  it  is  that  I  can  not  tell  when  my  right  or  left  rein 
is  shorter  than  the  other." 

"  Your  right  rein  needs  attention  now,"  said  Waldegrave,  smil- 
ing a  little. 

Then,  as  she  hesitated,  he  leaned  over,  and  saying,  "  Allow  me," 
took  the  loose  end  and  drew  it  an  inch  or  two  through  her  fin- 
gers. It  was  a  very  simple  act,  and  one  which  Colonel  Bevis  had 
already  several  times  performed ;  but  from  Waldegrave  it  acquired 
a  new  meaning.  Though  his  hand  did  not  touch  hers,  there  was 
something  in  the  momentary  closeness  of  contact  which  made  the 
girl  flush.  It  seemed  to  bring  more  vividly  to  her  consciousness 
•who  and  what  the  man  was  who  offered  this  friendly,  familiar  at- 
tention. 

After  this  they  walked  their  horses  down  to  the  Ponte  Molle, 
and  the  talk  became  something  besides  a  monologue  of  instruction. 
Colonel  Bevis  still  had  a  vigilant  eye  for  any  departure  from  the 
right  position  of  body  or  the  slightest  laxity  of  either  rein ;  but 
his  admonitions  were  only  interjections  in  the  conversation.  Their 
way  was  now  along  the  old  classic  road  which  leads  from  Kome 
to  Northern  Italy,  and  the  boundless  expanse  of  the  Campagna 
spread  around  them  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  crossed  by  the 
varying  lights  and  shadows  of  the  fair  spring  day.  Except  at  cer- 
tain seasons  of  the  year,  there  is  no  look  of  desolation  about  this 
wonderful  tract  of  country — unless  such  a  look  is  given  by  the 
lack  of  habitations — but  a  beauty  peculiar  to  itself  and  almost  in- 
describable. Mount  one  of  the  turfy  hillocks  which  abound,  and  see 
what  a  picture  is  spread  before  the  gaze — a  grassy  sweep  of  lux- 
uriant green,  golden  with  the  flower  of  the  broom,  bright  with 
"  flame-born  anemones  "  and  glowing  poppies,  starred  with  myr- 


302  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

iads  of  daisies,  buttercups,  narcissi,  and  wild  convolvuli.  The 
ground  is  broken  by  long,  swelling  ridges,  which  rise  now  and  then 
into  those  rocky  cliffs  that  formed  the  natural  strength  of  the  cita- 
dels and  towns  of  ancient  Latium.  In  the  hollows  wander  streams 
fringed  by  green  osiers.  Solitary  mediaeval  towers  are  scattered 
here  and  there — remnants,  for  the  most  part,  of  the  feuds  of  the 
Orsini  and  Colonna.  Yonder  a  deserted  castle  occupies  the  site 
of  an  old  Etruscan  stronghold ;  there  is  a  shepherd's  hut,  built  of 
reeds,  such  as  Virgil  describes.  Afar,  the  great  aqueducts,  in 
giant  arches,  lead  the  eye  to  the  violet  beauty  of  the  mountains 
which  bound  this  strange,  wild,  glorious  plain,  where  unnumbered 
armies  have  marched,  where  battles  have  been  fought  of  which 
history  has  forgotten  the  very  names,  and  where  great  cities  have 
risen,  flourished  for  a  time,  then  fallen  so  ntterly  to  decay  that 
not  even  one  stone  upon  another  remains  to  tell  where  they  stood 
in  their  strength  and  beauty — alternately  the  friends  and  rivals  of 
mighty  Koine. 

"I  am  never  on  the  Campagna,"  said  Irene,  "  without  thinking 
of  that  striking  phrase  of  Madame  de  Stael,  '  Cette  terre  fatiguee 
de  gloire  qui  semble  dedaigner  de  produire?  I  am  glad  that  it  can 
not  be  cultivated.  I  should  not  like  to  see  it  other  than  it  is." 

"  If  it  were  cultivated,  Rome  would  lose  an  impressive  set- 
ting," said  Waldegrave.  "Nothing  could  be  more  appropriate  to 
the  Eternal  City  than  this  great  plain  with  its  ruins  and  tombs." 

"I  believe,"  said  Colonel  Bevis,  "  that  we  are  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  place  where  the  battle  between  Constantino  and  Max- 
entius  was  fought." 

"  We  are  very  near  it,"  said  "Waldegrave.  "  This  earth  be- 
neath our  feet  heard  the  thunder  of  the  legions.  If  we  had  time 
to  examine,  we  might  find  some  of  the  red  volcanic  rock  which 
gave  its  name  to  the  battle-field."  * 

" '  In  hoc  signo  vinces,'  "  said  Irene,  glancing  up  at  the  sky,  as 
if  expecting  to  see  the  fiery  cross  outlined  there.  "  I  should  like 
to  have  been  one  of  the  legions  that  day." 

"  You  would  have  fought  well,"  said  Colonel  Bevis,  regarding 
the  clear,  noble  line  of  her  profile,  the  quick  radiance  of  her 
look.     "  There  is  warlike  stuff  in  you." 
*  Saxa  Kubra. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  303 

The  radiance  had  not  left  her  glance  when  she  turued  it  on 
him.  "Why  do  you  say  that?"  she  asked.  "Have  I  betrayed 
any  warlike  taste  ?  " 

"  You  betray  it  all  the  time,"  he  answered.  "  Your  eyes  glow, 
your  color  rises  at  the  mere  name  of  some  old  battle  ;  and,  when 
you  sing  a  song  that  tells  of  bloodshed  and  fighting,  your  voice  has 
the  ring  of  a  trumpet.  I'm  sure  that  you  would  like  to  lead  an 
army." 

"  Perhaps  I  would,"  she  said,  smiling.  "  But  it  should  be  an 
army  inspired  with  some  heroic  purpose  and  ready  for  noble 
deeds.  Bloodshed  and  fighting,  in  themselves,  are  terrible — but 
for  a  noble  end  they  become  glorious.  If  it  were  not  for  war,  we 
should  not  know  of  what  human  nature  is  capable — what  it  can 
dare,  endure,  sacrifice." 

Colonel  Bevis  nodded  approvingly.  "  I  am  glad  to  hear  you 
talk  so,"  he  said.  "  One  grows  sick  of  the  cant  about  the  mil- 
lennium of  peace  which  is  to  dawn  upon  the  world.  War  has  its 
horrors — who  knows  them  better  than  a  soldier? — but  it  has  its 
glories  too;  and,  in  my  opinion,  the  world  will  have  lost  rather 
than  gained,  when  a  man  is  not  ready  to  drop  the  pursuit  of 
wealth,  to  leave  home  and  wife  and  child,  to  take  up  arms  for  the 
cause  of  his  fatherland.  For,  '  it  is  appointed  unto  all  men  once 
to  die.' " 

"  '  And  how  should  man  die  better 

Than  facing  fearful  odds, 
For  the  ashes  of  his  fathers 

And  the  temples  of  his  gods  ? '  " 

said  Irene  quickly,  with  the  ring  in  her  voice  of  which  he  had 
spoken. 

"If  war  had  always  a  noble  end,"  said  Waldegrave,  "it  would 
certainly  be  easy  to  face  the  death  it  might  bring.  But  the  end 
is  often  unworthy  in  the  extreme — and  the  gloom  of  defeat  has 
overtaken  many  a  righteous  cause.  You  might  not  always  be 
able  to  twine  laurels  around  the  brows  of  your  heroes,"  he  added, 
with  a  smile  at  Irene. 

"They  would  bo  none  the  less  heroes  to  me,"  she  replied. 
"  Indeed,  they  would  be  more  heroic,  more  worthy  of  love  and 


304:  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

reverence,  in  defeat  than  in  triumph.  If  there  is  anything  I  desire 
it  is  to  reach  the  soul  of  things— not  their  mere  outer  shell  of  ap- 
pearance. And  I  have  a  peculiar  sympathy  for  the  defeated  and 
unfortunate — provided  that  their  cause  was  just  and  their  shield 
stainless.  Even  in  social  life  I  do  not  care  for  people  who  are  too 
prosperous.  They  are  always  a  little — often  greatly — hardened. 
The  fineness  of  their  sympathy  is  blunted.  The  world  goes  too 
well  with  them,  for  them  to  hear  the  sorrowful  heating  of  other 
hearts,  or  to  see  a  martyr  in  the  victim  of  defeat  and  scorn." 

She  had  gone  on  speaking,  without  knowing  where  she  would 
end;  her  voice  had  taken  its  deepest  chord,  her  eyes  were  full  of 
luster.  It  did  not  occur  to  her  at  the  moment  that  Waldegrave 
might  suppose  that  he  was  classed  under  the  head  of  the  too  pros- 
perous people. 

"Those  are  very  fine  sentiments,  my  dear  Miss  Lescar,"  said 
Colonel  Bevis,  "  but  a  trifle  unpractical.  In  this  excellent  world 
of  ours  we  take  off  our  hats  to  success." 

"  I  know  that  you  do,"  she  answered,  with  a  touch  of  scorn. 
"But  I  shall  never  make  the  world's  standard  mine.  I  do  not 
care  to  follow  any  triumphal  chariot.  I  would  rather  stay  with 
those  who  have  fallen  on  the  battle-field  and  bind  up  their 
wounds." 

One  of  the  two  men  who  were  looking  at  her  pale,  beautiful 
face,  her  shining  eyes,  thought,  with  the  quickness  and  intensity 
of  a  leaping  flame,  that  he  would  be  glad  to  be  wounded  if  her 
hands  would  bind  up  his  wounds.  But  there  was  no  echo  of  this 
thought  in  his  voice  when  he  spoke. 

"  You  have  just  said  that  you  desire  to  reach  the  soul  of  things 
— and  do  you  not  see  that  tho  soul  of  heroism  might  as  well  be  in 
the  triumphal  chariot  as  in  the  dust  of  the  battle-field  ?  It  was 
Constantine,  not  Maxentius,  who  conquered  here." 

"I  remember,"  she  said;  "but  this  is  my  feeling — the  hero 
in  the  chariot  has  enough  in  his  success,  in  the  praise  and  honor 
of  the  world.  I  should  like  to  bestow  what  is  mine  to  give,  on 
one  who  needs  it  more." 

"  So  we  must  be  defeated  in  order  to  obtain  your  smiles,"  said 
Colonel  Bevis.  "  Yet  I  have  never  seen  any  one  better  fitted  to 
grace  a  triumphal  chariot  than  yourself." 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  305 

Waldegrave  agreed  with  the  speaker — yet  felt  a  sense  of  irri- 
tation at  the  personal  character  of  the  speech.  He  was  pleased 
that  Irene  did  not  answer  it ;  she  only  said,  as  she  slowly  stroked 
the  neck  of  her  horse  with  a  slender,  gloved  hand  : 

"  I  can  sympathize  with  ambition  ;  but  the  success  which  the 
world  glorifies  is  often  such  a  vulgar  and  ignoble  thing  that  I  have 
little  sympathy  with  that.  But  now  " — she  looked  at  the  Eng- 
lishman with  a  smile — "  do  you  not  think  that  I  might  trot  a  lit- 
tle more  ?  I  shall  never  learn  if  I  do  not  try." 

When  they  reached  the  villa  of  Livia  they  found  that  the  rest 
of  the  party  had  been  there  for  some  time.  The  Marquis  came 
forward  quickly  to  dismount  Irene  before  either  of  her  attend- 
ants could  do  so.  Mrs.  Bevis  observed  his  movement,  and  turned 
to  Stanhope  with  a  smile.  "  You  are  the  only  cavalier  who  does 
not  fly  to  the  service  of  the  beautiful  Miss  Lescar,"  she  said. 

"  Miss  Lescar  is  sufficiently  attended,"  he  answered  ;  but  there 
was  a  shade  of  gravity  on  his  face  as  he  glanced  from  the  Marquis 
to  Waldegrave. 

They  explored  the  ruins,  and  descended  into  those  lately  ex- 
cavated chambers  which  opened  to  the  modern  mind  a  wonderful 
revelation  of  the  beauty  which  surrounded  ancient  Roman  life, 
and  the  excellence  of  ancient  Roman  art.  For  here  the  frescoes 
glow  with  surpassing  freshness,  in  tints  as  brilliant  as  if  laid  on 
yesterday — such  an  exquisite  trellis-work  of  fruits  and  flowers, 
such  delicate  foliage  of  oleander,  orange,  and  myrtle,  with  birds 
of  bright-hued  plumage  sporting  among  the  branches,  as  fills  the 
mind  with  the  most  delightful  visions. 

"  It  is  incarnate  summer — the  summer  of  Italy,"  said  Irene,  as 
she  stood  in  the  center  of  one  of  the  chambers,  holding  up  the 
folds  of  her  habit  and  gazing  round.  She  looked  at  M.  de  Cha- 
teaumesnil,  who  was  near  her.  "It  makes  one  think  that  the 
Empress  Livia  must  have  been  a  very  charming  person,"  she  said. 

"  She  was  charming  enough  to  retain  the  affection  of  Augustus 
to  the  last,"  he  answered.  "  But  it  is  not  always  a  safe  rule  to 
argue  from  the  decoration  of  a  house  to  the  character  of  its  pos- 
sessor." 

"  Do  you  not  think  so  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  few  things  are 
more  indicative  of  character.  For  instance,  whoever  chose  this 


306  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

decoration  must  have  loved  nature — must  have  felt  all  the  sweet- 
ness of  its  skies,  of  its  trees,  of  its  flowers  and  birds;  and  have 
you  ever  known  a  person  of  bad  or  petty  character  who  felt  and 
loved  the  influence  of  these  things  ?  " 

He  smiled.  "I  am  not  sure,"  he  said.  " The  answer  to  that 
question  would  require  consideration — though  in  a  broad  sense  I 
am  inclined  to  think  that  you  are  right.  But  the  paintings  of  this 
villa  were  probably  done  by  order  of  the  Emperor,  and  may  be 
read  as  a  token  of  his  great  and  tender  love." 

"That  gives  them  added  beauty,"  she  said,  looking  round 
again  with  soft,  bright  eagerness.  "They  ought  to  be  imperish- 
able— like  the  love  which  has  come  down  to  us,  a  wafted  sweet- 
ness from  that  far-off  time." 

What  was  there  in  this  girl's  voice  which  seemed  to  impart 
such  deep  and  exquisite  meaning  to  her  simplest  words  ?  The 
Marquis  was  a  man  of  the  world,  but  he  was  also  a  man  of  refined 
nature,  and  he  felt,  when  listening  to  her,  like  one  who  looks  into 
an  ideal  world  full  of  images  as  beautiful  as  those  pictured  on 
the  walls  before  them. 

Meanwhile,  Mrs.  Falconer,  finding  herself  alone  in  one  of  the 
chambers  with  Stanhope,  said  to  him,  "What  is  the  matter,  that 
you  look  so  grave? " 

"  Am  I  looking  grave  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Not  enough  so  to  attract  the  attention  of  others,"  she  an- 
swered, "  but  I  know  your  face.  Is  it  about  Irene  ?  " 

"Yes."  He  paused — then  after  a  moment  went  on:  "I  do  not 
like  this  association  with  Count  Waldegrave ;  and  still  less  do  I 
like  his  evident  interest  in  her." 

"But  it  is  .natural,"  she  said.  "Who  could  fail  to  be  inter- 
ested in  one  so  attractive  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her  with  sudden  keenness.  She  was  trifling 
with  the  tassel  of  her  riding-whip,  and,  if  her  words  had  any 
deeper  meaning  than  appeared,  there  was  no  sign  of  it  in  her 
face.  She  met  his  gaze  quietly,  and  added  : 

"  We  should  not  wonder  if  others  are  conscious  of  the  charm 
that  both  you  and  I  have  felt." 

"Ah,"  he  said,  "but  I  fear  a  different  kind  of  interest  from 
yours  and  mine ;  and  I  perceive  signs  of  it  in  Count  Waldegravo 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  307 

which  make  me  think  that  the  time  has  come  when  I  must  tell 
him  who  she  is." 

"  I  am  sorry.     She  will  dislike  it." 

"  That  can  not  be  helped.  Their  position  toward  each  other 
is  a  false  one,  so  far  as  he  is  concerned.  It  is  not  right  that  he 
should  be  kept  in  ignorance  of  the  truth." 

"  Would  it  not  be  better  for  us  to  leave  Rome  ?  I  am  willing 
to  do  so." 

He  shook  his  head.  "  No.  Who  could  guard  against  another 
meeting  elsewhere?  I  think  that  his  interest  is  deeper  than  he  is 
himself  aware,  and  that  the  sooner  he  is  made  acquainted  with 
the  existence  of  the  barrier  between  Irene  and  himself,  the  better." 

"You  do  not  think,"  she  said,  quickly,  "that  he  would  desire 
to  marry  her? " 

Stanhope  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "How  cnn  I  tell?  Who 
can  answer  for  the  folly  of  a  man  in  love  ?— and  this  man  is  in 
love,  though  probably  he  does  not  know  it." 

"  What  a  strange  caprice  of  fate  their  meeting  has  been !  "  said 
Mrs.  Falconer.  "  But  pray  wait  a  little — pray  do  not  be  precipi- 
tate! He  may  only  admire  her,  as  every  one  does  and  must." 

Again  he  glanced  at  her. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "  it  strikes  me,  as  it  often  has  struck 
me  before,  how  few  women  there  are  who  in  your  position  would 
care  to  be  to  this  girl  what  you  have  been  and  are  ?  " 

"Why  not?  "  she  asked.  "  Ought  I  to  be  afraid  of  being  over- 
shadowed? But  you  see  I  am  too  certain  of  my  own  charm — that 
golden  charm  which  is  never  eclipsed  save  by  one  more  golden." 

"  Do  you  think  that  you  are  just  to  your  friends  when  you 
speak  in  that  manner  ? "  he  asked,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  It  is  not  unjust  to  state  a  manifest  fact,"  she  answered,  calm- 
ly. "  The  consciousness  that  my  wealth  is  my  chief  claim  to  con- 
sideration does  not  make  me  cynical  or  bitter.  I  flatter  myself 
I  am  too  much  a  woman  of  the  world  for  that.  I  accept  the  fact 
with  composure  and  philosophy.  I  fancy  that  it  is  only  very  vain 
people  who  resent  being  valued  for  what  they  possess  rather  than 
for  what  they  are.  I  used  to  be  vain  enough  to  believe  that  I  had 
something  in  myself  apart  from  my  wealth — something  which 
might  win  for  me  affection  and  esteem.  But  I  have  learned  other- 


308  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

wise,  since  even  my  friends  think  that  I  can  do  no  better,  expect 
-no  more,  than  to  strike  a  bargain  and  exchange  my  wealth  for 
rank." 

She  spoke  without  the  faintest  excitement,  the  least  trace  of 
bitterness ;  but  her  very  quietness  cut  Stanhope  like  a  sword.  He 
had  literally  not  a  word  to  reply ;  and,  indeed,  with  the  entrance 
of  the  rest  of  the  party  a  moment  later,  he  lost  the  opportunity  to 
reply  at  all. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

IT  is  doubtful  if  Stanhope  had  ever  in  his  life  been  more  moved 
than  by  Mrs.  Falconer's  words.  They  rang  in  his  ears  like  the 
voice  of  an  accusing  angel.  If  there  had  been  an  accent  of  re- 
proach in  them  he  might  have  defended  himself  better  from  the 
self-reproach  he  felt;  but  her  calm  acceptance  of  what  she  called 
"  a  manifest  fact" — that  her  friends  held  her  fortune  of  more  ac- 
count than  herself — had  a  confounding  effect  upon  him.  She  was 
so  reasonable  that  it  had  never  occurred  to  him  that  she  would 
misinterpret  his  motive  in  advocating  a  brilliant  marriage  for  her, 
or  draw  the  conclusion  that  he  considered  her  not  worthy  of  the 
highest  love  and  honor.  But  now  he  began  to  ask  himself  if  she 
was  not  justified  in  such  an  inference.  Had  he  not,  in  his  deter- 
mination to  ignore  his  own  feelings — to  put  them  entirely  aside — 
rushed  fiercely  to  the  extreme  of  deciding  what  would  be  best  for 
her?  Was  there  not  something  of  presumption  in  his  positive  and 
oft-repeated  opinion  that  her  ambition  demanded  a  field  which 
only  a  great  marriage  would  give?  A  certain  emphasis  was  lent 
to  this  questioning  by  his  recent  realization  of  the  motives  of  M. 
de  Chateaumesnil.  Since  it  had  been  made  clear  to  him  that  the 
Marquis  was  simply  intent  upon  making  a  mariage  de  convenance, 
he  had  endeavored  to  console  himself,  to  silence  his  sense  of  in- 
dignation by  thinking  that,  after  all,  such  a  marriage  might  suit 
Mrs.  Falconer  better  than  another,  and  that  at  least  she  was  a  free 
agent  in  accepting  it.  But  now  these  consolatory  reflections 
seemed  to  vanish  and  leave  him  face  to  face  with  the  fact  that  this 
woman,  with  all  her  capabilities  for  giving  and  receiving  happi- 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  309 

ness,  was  about  to  enter  into  a  worldly  contract  with  which  hearts 
have  naught  to  do. 

He  found  time  for  these  meditations  after  his  return  to  Eome. 
He  had  shaken  off  the  society  of  the  Marquis  and  gone  out  alone. 
Having  dined  at  a  cafe,  where  he  met  no  one  whom  he  knew,  he 
strolled  into  the  streets  and  almost  unconsciously  took  his  way 
toward  the  heart  of  ancient  Rome.  There  was  no  moon — at  least, 
there  was  no  moonlight — but  the  sky  was  of  a  sSft,  velvety  pur- 
ple, like  the  petal  of  a  pansy,  out  of  which  the  stars  shone  great 
and  glorious  in  golden  beauty.  As  he  passed  along,  many  pictures 
met  his  eye  which  at  another  time  would  have  interested  and  de- 
lighted him.  Now  it  was  the  arched  portone  of  some  stately  pal- 
ace which  gave  a  glimpse  of  the  spacious  court  within,  where  the 
musical  plash  of  falling  water  was  heard — that  sound  which  per- 
vades Rome — and  where  there  was  a  glimpse  of  lofty  columns, 
sculptured  heads,  and  armorial  bearings.  Then  came  the  entrance 
of  some  deep,  narrow  street,  spanned  by  a  feudal  arch  from  un- 
der which  a  cavalier  of  the  middle  ages  might  have  emerged. 
Next,  with  the  sound  of  laughter  and  the  tinkling  of  a  musical 
instrument,  a  wine-shop  threw  a  flood  of  crimson  light  across  the 
way,  revealing  a  scene  of  Rembrandt  lights  and  shades.  Here 
was  a  piazza  filled  with  the  cheerful  tread  of  feet,  the  roll  of  pass- 
ing carriages,  the  glare  of  brilliant  windows.  Yonder  a  campa- 
nile lifted  its  graceful  outlines  against  the  wonderful  sky ;  there 
the  rich  drapery  over  the  door  of  a  church  showed  that  the  devo- 
tion of  the  Forty  Hours  was  being  celebrated  within,  and  as  some 
hand  drew  back  the  leathern  curtain  there  was  a  glimpse  through 
a  vista  of  pillars  of  the  high  altar  ablaze  with  light. 

A  strange  contrast  to  these  scenes  the  Forum  presented  when 
he  reached  it — a  picture  of  death  in  the  midst  of  life.  The  star- 
light filled  the  great  open  space  with  a  mild  radiance  which  made 
sufficiently  clear  the  fragments  of  ruin  with  which  it  is  strewed, 
and  the  groups  of  delicate  columns  that  stand  in  mournful,  isolated 
beauty.  The  lamps  along  the  roadway  shone  like  terrestrial  stars, 
while  above  them  the  somber  Palatine  lifted  its  dark  crown  of 
pines  and  cypresses.  Turning  toward  the  west,  Stanhope  saw 
hanging  over  the  roofs  and  towers  of  Rome  the  golden  crescent 
of  the  moon  in  her  first  quarter — a  young  queen  of  night  just 


310  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

stepped  upon  her  throne,  whence  she  would  soon  rule  the  whole 
vast  firmament,  and  quench  with  her  light  the  myriad  stars  that 
now,  "like  patines  of  bright  gold,"  embroidered  the  sky. 

It  was  a  place  and  a  time  to  wake  all  the  poetry  of  any  nature 
not  wholly  commonplace.  And  generally  no  one  would  have 
been  quicker  than  Stanhope  to  be  thrilled  by  the  associations  and 
the  beauty  of  the  scene.  But  to-night  a  strong  personal  emotion 
had  laid  its  hold  upon  him,  and,  for  once,  he  was  comparatively 
insensible  to  the  most  august  memories,  the  most  beautiful  effects. 
He  descended  into  the  excavated  space,  and,  taking  his  way  care- 
fully among  the  confusion  of  fallen  shafts  and  scattered  blocks  of 
marble,  reached  the  solitary  column  of  Phocas,  and  sat  down  on  its 
no-longer-buried  base.  Here,  with  quiet  all  around  him,  and  the 
serene  glory  of  heaven  above,  he  felt  able  to  confront  a  knowledge 
which  he  had  long  endeavored  to  hide  from  himself. 

Yes,  he  loved  her.  There  could  not  be  a  doubt  of  that.  The 
mask  of  friendship  could  no  longer  conceal  the  face  of  love.  He 
had  nattered  himself  that  he  was  impervious  to  this  passion  which 
made  fools  of  other  men,  that  what  he  felt  was  only  the  most 
sympathetic  friendship,  the  most  admiring  affection ;  but  he  knew 
now  that  he  had  deceived  himself,  and  that  the  winged  arrow  was 
buried  in  his  heart.  She  had  said  that  he  did  not  think  her  worthy 
of  love,  and  all  the  time  he  was  offering  her  a  devotion  the  greater 
in  that  it  asked  for  no  return.  For  he  clearly  regarded  and  ac- 
cepted the  position — the  fact  that  her  wealth  made  an  obstacle  he 
could  never  overcome.  To  go  to  this  woman,  dowered  like  a 
princess,  and  say,  "I  love  you,  but  I  have  nothing  to  offer  besides 
my  heart  and  an  obscure  name,"  was  something  from  which  every 
instinct  of  pride  revolted.  And,  moreover,  he  had  no  reason  to 
change  his  opinion  that  she  was  fitted  for  a  great  position,  a 
social  rank  of  assured  power.  He  knew  her  so  well — no  one  else 
could  ever  know  her  as  well,  he  thought,  with  a  pang — that  he 
appreciated  all  her  capabilities  for  filling  such  a  position,  all  that 
she  would  be  to  a  man  whose  life  she  would  consent  to  share, 
whose  career  she  would  aid.  But,  then,  that  man  should  give  her 
the  devotion  that  she  deserved.  He  should  think  less  of  her  splen- 
did fortune  than  of  herself.  His  eyes  should  not  leave  her  to 
wander  toward  any  rare,  brilliant  creature  like  Irdne. 


HEART  Of  STEEL.  311 

He  rose  suddenly  to  his  feet.  He  remembered  how  De  Cha- 
teamnesnil  had  looked,  had  spoken,  as  he  rode  by  Irene's  side  that 
afternoon.  "  If  I  had  known  !  "  he  said,  taking  off  his  hat  to  a  soft 
breeze  that  came  wandering  by.  "  I  believe  that  but  for  my  influ- 
ence she  would  not  have  entertained  his  suit — and  what  if  in  my 
blind  presumption  I  have  induced  her  to  wreck  her  life  a  second 
time  ?— It  shall  not  be !  I  will  tell  him—"  He  paused.  "  What 
can  I  tell  him?  He  has  spoken:  she  has  promised  to  answer. 
There  is  nothing  more  to  be  said.  But  if— but  if—"  He  looked 
up  at  the  great  constellations  burning  so  steadily  overhead.  "  Ah, 
madness  and  folly !  If  I  could  grasp  one  of  those  shining  stars, 
would  it  be  well  with  me?  The  star  would  not  be  content  down 
here ;  and  I — feeling  that  I  had  plucked  it  from  where  it  should 
have  shone — I  should  be  miserable!  No  man  can  possess  self- 
respect  who,  without  some  brilliant  counterbalancing  advantage, 
seeks  to  marry  a  woman  of  great  fortune.  No — she  must  marry 
a  man  of  high  rank — I  have  always  felt  that — but  I  hope  now  that 
it  may  not  be  De  Chateaumesnil." 

While  Stanhope  thus  communed  with  himself  in  the  Forum, 
and  derived  little  comfort  therefrom,  Mrs.  Falconer,  stepping  out 
on  the  balcony  of  her  salon,  called  Irene  to  come  and  look  at  the 
new  moon. 

The  girl  went  out,  letting  the  soft  drapery  of  the  window  fall 
behind  her,  and  stood  for  a  moment  motionless.  The  beauty  of 
the  night  penetrated  her  like  a  charm.  The  flowers  with  which 
the  balcony  was  filled  were  exhaling  their  fragrance  on  the  air. 
The  city  lay  at  her  feet,  a  mass  of  shadow,  braided  with  lines  of 
light,  here  and  there  sharp  silhouettes  of  roofs  and  towers  cut 
against  the  sky,  which  seemed  to  throb  with  the  glory  of  its  myr- 
iad stars,  while  afar  toward  St.  Peter's  the  moon  was  lying  like  a 
fairy  boat  in  the  great  infinity  of  purple  ether. 

"  Is  it  not  beautiful  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Falconer. 

"  Oh,  it  is  more  than  that,"  answered  Irene.  She  advanced 
and  stood  by  the  balustrade,  looking  out  over  the  scene.  "  It  is 
so  exquisite  that  it  hushes  speech.  It  is  like  a  great  church  full 
of  the  thought  of  God.  That  is  the  Paschal  moon,"  she  added, 
softly. 


312  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"  Tes,  Easter  is  not  far  off,"  answered  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  Next 
Sunday  is  Passion-Sunday.  And  you  know  that  during  the  last 
two  weeks  of  Lent  nothing  social  goes  on  in  Rome.  I  am  not 
sorry.  It  will  give  one  time  to  draw  breath — to  think.  One  has 
need  to  think  now  and  then,"  she  said,  dropping  her  voice  a 
little. 

They  were  both  silent  for  some  time.  Then  Mrs.  Falconer 
said :  "  Let  us  sit  down.  Night  is  a  good  time  for  confidence. 
And  I  have  something  to  say — something,  also,  to  ask." 

There  was  a  light  chair  in  a  nook  of  the  balcony,  on  which 
she  sat,  while  Irene  knelt  on  a  silk  cushion  near  her  feet,  and, 
leaning  against  the  balustrade,  still  looked  on  the  picture  of  city 
and  sky.  Several  minutes  passed,  and  then  Mrs.  Falconer  said  : 

"Are  you  not  tired?  That  was  a  long  ride  this  afternoon  for 
your  first." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  I  am  tired,"  Irene  answered,  "but  I  do  not 
feel  it  now.  It  is  delightful  to  be  here  alone  with  you  and  the 
night.  I  am  glad  you  told  Antonio  to  deny  you  to  any  one  who 
called." 

"  I,  too,  am  tired  a  little.  It  has  been  some  time  since  I  rode 
before.  And  one  needs  practice  in  such  exercise.  Did  you  en- 
joy  it?" 

"  I  found  the  instruction — the  attempt  to  do  something  which 
I  did  not  understand — fatiguing  at  first.  But  the  rest  at  the  villa 
refreshed  me,  and  on  our  return  .1  felt  more  at  ease  in  the 
saddle." 

"  And  perhaps  you  found  M.  de  Chateaumesnil  a  pleasanter 
instructor  than  Colonel  Bevis." 

"  I  did,"  answered  the  girl,  frankly.  "  There  was  a  grace  even 
in  his  mode  of  instructing.  How  true  it  is  that  there  is  a  pleasant 
and  an  unpleasant  way  to  do  everything !  M.  de  Chateaumesnil's 
way  is  always  pleasant." 

"  He  is  very  charming,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  half  absently. 
Then  she  roused  herself,  and  laughed  softly.  "  Perhaps  you  will 
be  surprised,"  she  said,  "  that  I  am  hesitating  whether  or  not  to 
marry  him." 

"  Are  you  ?  "  asked  Ir&ne,  in  a  tone  of  quick  interest.  She 
looked  up,  and  by  the  starlight  tried  to  read  the  face  above  her, 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  313 

but  the  obscurity  baffled  the  attempt.  Her  voice  changed  when 
she  spoke  again.  "No,"  she  said.  "  I  am  not  surprised.  How- 
ever charming  a  man  may  be  as  an  acquaintance,  a  woman  must 
hesitate  when  it  is  a  question  of  uniting  her  life  to  his.  Indeed, 
it  seems  to  me  that  he  would  cease  to  be  charming  when  he  tried 
to  draw  so  near  to  one." 

"Is  that  your  feeling?"  asked  Mrs.  Falconer.  "But  you 
know  that  if  one  lives  in  the  world  one  must  face  this  question  of 
marriage.  The  world  will  not  let  one  alone,"  she  said,  with  a 
slight  accent  of  impatience.  "  People  will  not  realize  that  one 
may  wish  to  be  free,  that  one  may  enjoy  freedom.  And  if  one 
has  a  large  fortune,  then  there  is  no  peace — suitors  come  in  mul- 
titudes ;  each  of  those  whom  one  calls  one's  friends  has  a  candi- 
date to  propose.  It  becomes  very  wearying  at  last." 

"  But  you  are  not  a  person  to  do  a  thing  because  your  friends 
wish  you  to  do  it,"  said  Irene.  She  was  still  on  her  knees,  but 
she  had  turned  away  from  the  city  and  sky  to  look  eagerly  into 
the  face  that  only  showed  its  outlines  and  kept  its  expression  like 
a  secret  veiled  by  the  night.  "  You  are  proud  and  steadfast,  and 
able  to  stand  alone.  What  right  has  any  one  to  dictate  what  is 
best  for  your  life?" 

"  No  right,  certainly,"  said  the  other ;  "  but  friendship  has 
some  privileges,  and  to  offer  advice  is  held  to  be  one  of  them.  I 
do  not  hear  a  great  deal,  because  I  am  rich — and  it  is  one  of  the 
advantages  of  riches  that  people  do  not  presume  to  offer  one  ad- 
vice. But  there  are  a  few  people  who  speak  to  me  freely,  and 
the  burden  of  their  counsel  is  the  same — make  a  brilliant  mar- 
riage, use  your  wealth  to  purchase  higher  rank,  more  assured  po- 
sition." 

"  But  you  do  not  mean  to  heed  them  ?  "  cried  the  girl,  with  a 
quiver  of  indignation  in  her  voice. 

"  Not  exactly,"  answered  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  I  would  not  enter- 
tain the  suit  of  a  prince  if  his  personal  character  did  not  com- 
mand my  liking  and  respect.  But,  after  all,  there  are  other 
things  in  life  besides  love,  and  when  one  has  been  cheated — " 

"  But  because  one  has  been  cheated  by  base  metal,  one  does 
not  doubt  the  existence  of  gold,"  said  the  proud  young  voice. 

"Does  one  not?"  was  the  slightly  sad  reply.  "One  is  at 
14 


314:  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

least  inclined  to  do  so.  And,  as  I  have  said,  the  passion  which 
plays  so  large  a  part  in  novels  really  plays  a  very  small  part  in 
actual  life.  There  are  many  other  things  to  be  considered.  One 
must  think  of  one's  future— to  grow  old  alone  will  be  melancholy. 
Another  thing  which  is  melancholy  is  to  have  no  great  controlling 
interest  in  life.  What  is  mine?  To  amuse  myself,  to  enjoy 
society,  to  draw  around  me  cultivated  and  delightful  people. 
But  I  should  enjoy  all  this  more  if  I  felt  that  I  was  directing  it  to 
some  end — and  that  end  the  ambition  of  a  man  whom  I  admire." 

"I  can  imagine  that,"  said  Irene,  musingly.  il  That  would  bo 
noble — to  merge  one's  self  in  a  great  career — but  could  one  do  it 
if  one  did  not  love  the  man  ?  " 

"I  thought  that  you  did  not  believe  in  love,"  said  the  other, 
looking  down  at  her  and  trying  in  turn  to  read  the  starlit  counte- 
nance. "  I  thought  that  you  repelled  the  idea  of  such  a  thing  ? " 

"So  I  do — for  myself,"  was  the  calm  reply,  "  because  I  should 
like  to  be  always  free,  and  whoever  loves  another  deeply  is  not 
free  but  bound.  It  is  in  the  power  of  that  other  to  render  you 
happy  or  miserable,  to  make  or  mar  your  life.  Now  I " — she 
lifted  her  head — "  wish  to  hold  my  life  in  my  own  hand.  But 
why  do  I  speak  of  myself?  I  told  you  once  before  what  I  feel 
on  this  subject.  We  are  talking  of  yourself.  Could  you  merge 
your  life  in  that  of  another  if  you  cared  nothing  for  him?  " 

"  Certainly  not  if  I  cared  nothing.  But  there  are  many  de- 
grees of  caring  short  of  passion.  Here  is  the  Marquis  de  Cha- 
teaumesnil :  can  you  not  fancy  that  a  woman  might  find  pleasure 
in  aiding  his  career,  in  opening,  perhaps,  a  field  for  his  ambition? " 

"  Yes,  if  she  loved  him,  I  can  imagine  no  higher  pleasure." 

"  We  are  not  talking  of  love,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  impatiently. 
"Put  it  out  of  your  mind.  You  have  heard  of  mariage  de  con- 
venance — it  is  that  I  shall  make  if  I  marry  the  Marquis.  He  offers 
me  the  distinction  of  high  rank.  I  can  give  him  wealth,  sym- 
pathy, aid." 

"And  is  the  distinction  of  rank  all  that  he  offers  you  ?  "  asked 
Irene,  with  a  vibrating  thrill  in  her  tone.  "  If  so,  I  can  only  say 
this :  I  am  poor,  I  am  almost  nameless ;  but  if  the  Marquis  de 
Chuteaumesnil,  or  any  other  man  on  earth,  came  and  offered  me 
his  rank  and  not  his  heart,  I  should  tell  him  that  I  was  far  too 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  315 

proud  to  accept  it — that  I  knew  myself  worthy  of  love,  and  would 
have  that  or  nothing !  " 

Even  in  the  starlight  the  flash  of  her  eyes  could  be  seen,  and 
the  ring  of  her  voice  had  in  it  something  magnetic.  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner caught  her  hand  and  held  it  firmly. 

"But  rememher,"  she  said,  "that  I  have  no  love  for  him. 
"\Vhen  a  man  offers  a  heart,  he  wishes  a  heart  in  return." 

"  And  would  marriage  be  other  than  a  hideous  mockery,  un- 
less one's  heart — and  all  one's  heart — were  in  it  ?  "  asked  the  girl. 
"  Perhaps  I  am  what  worldly  people  call  romantic,  but  I  can 
only  judge  by  my  own  feelings.  And  when  I  look  at  you — you 
so  worthy  of  love — I  can  not  believe  that  you  think  of  this  dese- 
cration. There  is  one  person  who  I  am  sure  will  agree  with  me. 
Does  Mr.  Stanhope  know  what  you  think  of  doing  ?  " 

Involuntarily  Mrs.  Falconer  drew  her  hand  back.  Irene  could 
not  perceive  whether  her  face  altered,  but  her  voice  had  alto- 
gether changed — it  was  cooler  and  harder — when  she  said  : 

"Mr.  Stanhope  not  only  knows,  but  he  is  one  of  the  friends, 
of  whom  I  spoke  a  moment  ago,  who  urge  me  to  accept  M.  de 
Chateaumesnil." 

"  Mr.  Stanhope !  "  repeated  Irene  in  an  amazed  voice.  "  Can 
you  be  in  earnest?  Forgive  me,  but  I  have  always  been  sure 
that  he  loves  you  himself." 

"Many  people  have  thought  so  because  we  are  such  good 
friends,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  in  the  same  tone  ;  "  but  it  is  a  mis- 
take. Mr.  Stanhope  is  not  a  man  who  will  ever  love,  in  the  sense 
of  exclusive  passion  ;  and  he  certainly  is  not  a  man  who  will  ever 
think  of  marrying,  for  he  does  not  wish  to  place  any  fetter  upon 
his  life.  Besides,  you  forget,  what  he  never  forgets,  that  I  am 
very  rich,  therefore  I  must  make  a  great  marriage." 

"  On  the  contrary,  because  you  are  so  rich,  it  seems  to  me 
that  you  are  free  to  do  what  you  will,"  said  Ir&ne,  almost  hotly ; 
"that  there  is  no  reason  why  you  should  sacrifice  yourself  in  a 
mariage  de  convenance." 

"  Does  it  seem  to  you  a  sacrifice?  I  thought  that  you  admired 
M.  de  Chateaumesnil  very  much." 

"  So  I  do  ;  and  if  you  cared  for  him  and  he  adored  you — for 
a  man  ought  to^ove  much  more  than  a  woman— I  should  be  glad 


316  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

to  see  you  Madame  la  Marquise.  But  not  even  M.  de  Chateaumes- 
nil  is  worthy  of  you  unless  he  brings  his  heart,  as  well  as  his 
name  and  rank,  to  lay  at  your  feet." 

"Men  like  the  Marquis  de  Chateaumesnil  have  not  often  a 
heart  left  by  the  time  they  have  reached  his  age,"  said  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner. "  Nothing  wears  out  all  freshness  of  emotion  like  a  life  of 
pleasure.  One  should  not  expect  more  than  a  man  can  give." 

"But  you  have  a  right  not  only  to  expect  but  to  demand  all 
that  a  man  can  give,"  said  Irene,  with  the  proud  accent  that  had 
been  in  her  voice  before.  "  I  like  the  Marquis,  and  I  admire  even 
more  than  I  like  him.  He  seems  made  for  the  court  of  a  king ; 
but  were  he  a  king  himself  I  should  still  say  to  you :  "Wait !  Life 
must  hold  many  chances  for  one  so  young,  so  beautiful,  so  rich  as 
you  are.  It  must  be  that  at  last  the  hour  and  the  man  will 
come." 

"  I  do  not  think  so,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  One  does  not 
readily  recover  from  such  a  disappointment  as  I  had  in  my  mar- 
riage. I  thought  then  that  I  should  never  believe  in,  never  ex- 
pect anything  from,  a  man  again.  Such  a  revelation  of  coldness 
and  hardness,  of  selfishness  and  self-indulgence,  was  enough  to 
turn  a  woman's  heart  to  stone." 

"  But  are  all  men  like  that  ?  " 

"  All  men  are  not,  but  the  vast  majority  are.  "Whether  it  is 
ambition,  or  self-indulgence,  or  pride,  they  are  alike  selfish  in  it. 
I  have  never  seen  a  man  who  thought  more  of  another  than  of 
himself.  Therefore,  it  is  useless  to  hope  for  the  impossible ;  and 
if  anything  is  to  be  gained  by  a  mariage  de  convenance,  why 
should  one  not  make  it  ?  At  least,  it  will  be  frank  and  open  this 
time.  There  will  be  no  pretense  of  devotion  offered  or  required." 

Irene  did  not  answer.  She  was  indeed  struck  dumb  by  this 
calm  cynicism.  She  could  not  tell  how  the  woman's  heart  and 
pride  were  writhing  under  it — how  her  mood  was  that  which 
finds  pleasure  in  a  desperate  deed.  Had  the  Marquis  de  Chateau- 
mesnil  been  there  at  that  moment,  she  would  probably  have  held 
out  her  hand  and  said,  "  I  will  marry  you." 

There  was  silence  for  some  time ;  then  Mrs.  Falconer  said : 
"  I  did  not  mean  to  talk  so  much  about  myself.  I  meant  to  speak 
of — other  things.  Do  you  know  " — she  hesitated — "  I  am  a  little 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  317 

troubled  by  the  association  into  which  we  have  drifted  with  Couut 
Waldegrave  ? " 

"  What  is  there  to  be  troubled  about  ?  "  asked  Irene — and  now 
it  was  Tier  voice  that  changed — "have  we  drifted  into  any  associa- 
tion with  him  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  we  have  only  met  him  now 
and  then,  when  it  has  been  impossible  to  avoid  doing  so." 

This  was  true,  and  Mrs.  Falconer  paused.  There  was  appar- 
ently nothing  more  to  say.  Yet  she  felt  that  something  more 
must  be  said.  After  a  moment  she  asked : 

"  What  do  you  think  of  him  on  further  acquaintance  ? " 

"I  have  thought  of  him  as  little  as  possible,"  was  the  reply. 
"  His  presence  wakes  such  bitter  recollection,  that  I  try  to  ignore 
it.  Yet  I  wish  to  be  just,  and  if  one  could  conceive  him  other 
than  he  is— I  mean,  with  another  name,  another  birth — I  might 
think  him  not  a  disagreeable  person." 

"  That  is  surely  damning  him  with  faint  praise,"  said  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner, smiling. 

"  It  is  high  praise — from  me,  of  /*««,"  said  Irene. 

Then  there  was  silence  again,  during  which  Mrs.  Falconer 
nerved  herself  to  say ! 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  be  sorry  to  hear  that  Mr.  Stanhope 
thinks  Count  Waldegrave  should  be  told  who  you  are.1' 

"What !  "  cried  Irene,  in  a  sharp,  quick  tone.  She  lifted  her- 
self suddenly  to  an  erect  position,  like  one  who  hears  a  sound  of 
danger.  "If  Mr.  Stanhope  does  that,  I  will  never  forgive  him!  " 
she  said,  passionately.  "  I  will  tell  him  so ;  I  will  not  permit  it. 
The  matter  is  my  affair.  He  has  no  right  to  interfere." 

She  uttered  these  sentences  with  proud  impetuosity.  Her 
whole  nature  was  in  arms.  At  that  moment  nothing  seemed 
to  her  so  intolerable  as  that  Waldegrave  should  know  the 
truth. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  quietly,  "  I  think  that  you  for- 
get that  Mr.  Stanhope  has  every  right  to  interfere — indeed,  he  has 
more  than  a  right.  He  has  an  obligation  to  do  so." 

"He  has  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  Irene,  still  passionate  and 
proud.  "  This  is  something  which  does  not  belong  to  his  prov- 
ince. It  is  /  who  have  a  right  to  say  what  shall  or  shall  not  be 
done  in  a  matter  which  affects  myself  alone." 


318  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"The  question  is,"  said  the  other,  "does  it  affect  yourself 
alone  ?  " 

"  "Whom  else  could  it  affect  ?  "  she  asked,  haughtily. 

"  Is  it  possible  you  do  not  see  that  it  affects  Count  Walde- 
grave  ?  His  interest  in  you  has  been  evident  from  the  first — and 
it  is  also  evident  that  it  increases.  Is  it,  therefore,  honorable  to 
leave  him  in  ignorance  on  such  a  point  as  this?  " 

"  What  right  has  he,  or  any  one  of  his  name,  to  expect  any 
consideration  from  me  ?  " 

"  Such  a  question  is  not  like  you.  It  is  not  what  others  have 
a  right  to  expect  from  us  that  we  are  to  think  of,  so  much  as  what 
is  worthy  of  one's  self." 

"  And  why  is  this  not  worthy  of  me  ?  " 

"Because  no  concealment  is  worthy  of  a  noble  nature ;  and 
because,  if  you  wiD  look  closely  into  your  motives,  you  will  find,  I 
am  sure,  that  they  are  not  worthy.  Answer  me  one  question : 
Do  yon  think  that  your  mother  would  approve  of  your  course  ? " 

Irene  was  silent  for  a  moment.  She  was  apparently  struggling 
with  herself;  and  when  she  finally  spoke,  it  was  to  say  in  a  tone 
of  bitterness : 

"  What  have  I  told  you  before  ?  My  mother  was  an  angel. 
But  I  am  not  like  her.  You  can  not  expect  me  to  be  like  her, 
when  you  remember  who  is  my  father." 

"  But  I  do  expect  it,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  You  have  her  ex- 
ample, and,  if  there  is  greater  strength  of  passion  in  your  nature 
than  there  was  in  hers,  that  strength  can  be  turned  to  good 
as  well  as  evil.  Indeed,  all  your  future  depends  upon  how  you 
use  it." 

Irene  could  almost  have  fancied  it  was  her  mother  who  spoke 
— but  to  rouse  that  association,  in  order  to  overcome  her  bitter- 
ness toward  Waldegrave,  was  like  fighting  fire  with  fire.  It  re- 
mained to  be  seen  which  would  prove  strongest,  love  or  hatred. 
Just  now  it  was  hatred  which  seemed  in  the  ascendant. 

"If  fate  has  forced  into  my  hand  a  weapon,  am  I  to  blame?  " 
she  asked,  presently.  "  I  have  done  nothing.  I  have  never  given 
Count  Waldegrave  a  kind  look,  hardly  a  civil  word.  But  if  he 
laid  his  heart  down  at  my  feet  I  should  not  be  sorry — I  should 
put  my  foot  on  it  and  say,  '  So  my  mother's  fared ! '  " 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  319 

"  Irene !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Falconer,  startled  and  shocked.  "  I 
would  not  have  believed  this !  My  child,  you  are  ruining  your 
nature.  Do  you  not  know  that  the  harm  you  may  do  others  is  as- 
nothing  compared  to  the  harm  you  are  doing  yourself?  " 

"  Am  I  ? "  said  the  girl,  wearily.  She  rose  and  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment with  her  tall,  graceful  figure  outlined  against  the  starry  soft- 
ness of  the  sky.  Then  she  bent  suddenly  and  left  a  light  caress 
on  her  companion's  cheek.  "  Do  not  let  us  talk  of  this,"  she  said. 
"I  can  only  struggle  and  pray.  Good-night." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"Ir  is  as  you  feared,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer  the  next  time  that 
she  saw  Stanhope.  "  Irene  has  perceived  Count  Waldegrave's 
admiration,  and,  although  she  is  too  proud  to  take  one  step  to  en- 
courage it,  she  is  evidently  entertaining  the  thought  of  some  dra- 
matic finale  when  he  will  lay  his  heart  at  her  feet  and  she  will 
put  her  foot  upon  it  and  say  that  '  so  her  mother's  fared  ! ' " 

Stanhope  frowned  impatiently.  The  result  of  being  in  pain 
one's  self  is  not  always  to  make  one  more  sympathetic  with  an- 
other's pain. 

"The  girl  is  mad,"  he  said.  "She  has  brooded  over  one 
thought  until  it  has  almost  taken  the  form  of  a  mania.  Since  her 
devotion  to  her  mother  is  so  great,  it  is  a  pity  she  would  not  re- 
call her  counsels — especially  her  dying  request.  But  nothing  is, 
happily,  more  unlikely  than  that  Count  Waldegrave  will  lay  his 
heart  at  her  feet." 

"  I  thought  you  fancied  that  there  was  danger  of  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Falconer. 

"  There  is  danger,  but  not  probability.  However  much  he  may 
be  attracted  by  her — and  he  is  evidently  very  much  attracted — he 
is  not  likely  to  forget  what  is  demanded  of  a  man  in  his  position ; 
he  is  not  likely  to  do  more  than  admire  a  nameless,  portionless 
American  girl." 

"  I  remember  expressing  that  opinion  once,  and  you  spoke  of 
the  marriage  of  his  uncle.  But  I  thought  then  of  the  great  dif- 
ference between  Irene's  position  and  that  of  her  mother." 


320  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"You  were  right, — there  is  a  decided  difference.  Madame 
Lescar  was  not  only  a  great  heiress  and  a  famous  beauty,  but  she 
was  the  daughter  of  one  of  the  most  distinguished  of  American 
statesmen.  It  was  no  very  unequal  marriage  for  him  who  was 
Count  "Waldegrave  in  those  days.  But  her  daughter  is  to  all  in- 
tents and  purposes  nobody." 

"  There  I  think  you  are  mistaken.  A  person  so  beautiful  and 
interesting  makes  a  rank  for  herself." 

He  shook  his  head.  "  You  are  mistaken.  Her  rare  gifts 
would  only  draw  attention  to  the  fact  that  she  has  no  rank  if  you 
did  not  throw  the  mantle  of  your  protection  around  her.  But, 
although  her  social  position  would  prevent  Count  Waldegrave 
from  thinking  of  marrying  her,  it  does  not  prevent  him  from  find- 
ing her  very  attractive ;  therefore,  since  I  do  not  hold  him  ac- 
countable for  his  uncle's  wrong-doing,  I  think  it  right  that  he 
should  know  who  she  is.  I  will  speak  to  her  and  frankly  tell  her 
so." 

"  I  can  see  no  good  that  your  speaking  to  her  will  effect.  She 
is  not  to  be  influenced  on  this  point,  however  docile  she  may  be 
in  other  matters." 

"I  shall  not  attempt  to  influence  her,"  he  said,  quietly.  "I 
shall  simply  tell  her  what  I  mean  to  do." 

"  Here  is  your  opportunity,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer — "  for 
yonder  she  comes." 

Stanhope  turned.  She  was  coming  down  the  long  suite  of 
apartments,  and  he  was  struck  afresh  by  the  grace  of  her  bearing, 
by  the  manner  in  which  the  spacious  rooms  and  lofty  ceilings,  the 
wide  doorways  hung  with  Oriental  stuffs,  the  great  spaces  filled 
with  mirrors,  seemed  fit  surroundings  for  her  noble  beauty.  ''  She 
was  certainly  born  to  be  a  princess !  "  he  said  to  himself  as  he 
advanced  to  meet  her. 

She  gave  him  her  hand  and  said,  "I  heard  that  you  were  here, 
so  I  thought  I  should  like  to  speak  to  you — if  you  have  no  ob- 
jection." 

"  Could  I  possibly  have  an  objection  ?  "  he  answered,  smiling. 
"  And,  as  it  chances,  I  was  just  remarking  that  I  wished  to  speak 
to  you." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  flash  of  intuition,  as  she  sat  down  in 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  321 

a  chair  that  he  drew  forward.  "  Perhaps  we  both  have  the  samo 
thing  on  our  minds,"  she  said.  "  Mrs.  Falconer  has  told  me  that 
you  are  about  to  do  something  to  which  I  have  a  right  to  object. 
You  are  thinking  of  telling  Count  "Waldegrave  who  I  am — is  it 
not  so  ? " 

44  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  I  am  thinking  of  telling  him — because 
I  believe  it  is  the  right  thing  to  do ;  because  1  feel  that  he  should 
know  the  true  position  in  which  you  stand  to  one  another." 

"  We  stand  in  the  position  of  mere  acquaintances,"  she  said, 
"  and  no  revelation  of  yours  could  make  us  stand  in  any  other. 
But  I  am  not  a  child,  Mr.  Stanhope— I  must  insist  that  my  wishes 
be  regarded  in  this  matter — and  I  do  not  wish  him  to  be  told  any- 
thing concerning  me." 

"If  you  are  not  speaking  as  a  child,"  said  Stanhope,  "you 
must  have  a  reason  for  such  a  wish.  "What  is  it? " 

A  tide  of  color  suffused  her  face,  then  left  it  white  as  marble. 
"  Do  you  need  to  ask  what  it  is  ? "  she  said,  in  a  low  tone.  "  There 
ia  no  one  in  the  world  who  should  know  the  truth  if  I  could  help  it. 
But,  above  all,  not  he — not  any  one  belonging  to  the  man  who 
has  cast — " 

She  suddenly  paused  and  put  her  hand  to  her  throat  as  if  she 
were  choking — a  gesture  which  reminded  Mrs.  Falconer  of  the 
day  she  first  mentioned  Count  Waldegrave's  name  to  her.  But 
her  eyes  did  not  lose  their  proud  luster,  and  after  a  moment  she 
went  on : 

"  It  is  not  as  if  any  end  were  to  be  gained  by  the  revelation. 
What  right  has  Count  Waldegrave  to  know  anything  of  me? 
What  possible  reason  have  you,  Mr.  Stanhope,  for  desiring  to  tell 
him  ? " 

Stanhope  hesitated  an  instant,  then  answered : 

"  Concealments  are  not  only  dishonorable — they  are  almost 
always  unwise." 

"  But,"  said  Irene,  quickly,  "how  can  concealment  be  dishon- 
orable, when  a  person  from  whom  a  matter  is  concealed  has  no 
claim  to  know  it  ?  " 

"  Let  us  then  say  only  that  it  is  unwise.  Chance  may  at  any 
time  reveal  to  Count  Waldegrave  who  you  are — when  the  fact 
that  the  truth  has  been  withheld  from  him  will  look  very  badly." 


322  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"How  is  that  possible,"  she  insisted,  "when  I  have  made  no 
false  pretenses  ?  I  bear  my  own  name — my  mother's  name.  I 
repeat  that  he,  of  all  people,  has  no  right  to  know  anything  more 
about  me." 

Stanhope  felt  that  he  had  no  alternative  but  to  speak  plainly. 

"  He  has  a  right,"  he  said,  "  when  through  ignorance  he  is  be- 
ing led  into  an  interest  which  you  must  recognize." 

Her  lip  curled  in  haughty  scorn.  "  What  then  ? "  she  asked. 
"  Is  his  interest  of  so  much  importance  that  you  should  rush  to 
put  him  on  his  guard  and  say  to  him  that  I  am  his  uncle's  dis- 
owned daughter?  If  you  do,  Mr.  Stanhope  " — she  rose,  pale  and 
looking  like  a  queen  in  her  anger — "  I  can  only  say  that  I  will 
never  forgive  it,  never  as  long  as  I  live  !  " 

She  quitted  the  room  as  she  uttered  the  last  word,  leaving 
Stanhope  and  Mrs.  Falconer  looking  at  one  another.  The  latter 
spoke  first : 

"  Are  you  much  surprised  ?  I  told  you  how  she  felt  on  this 
subject." 

"I  can  hardly  say  that  I  am  surprised  at  all,"  he  replied, 
calmly.  "  Her  mother's  warning  is  verified.  But  that  does  not 
alter  my  intention  to  do  what  is  right." 

"  You  still  intend  to  tell  Count  Waldegrave  who  she  is  ? " 

"  Undoubtedly — as  soon  as  chance  affords  me  a  good  oppor- 
tunity. I  do  not  think  that  the  matter  is,  as  yet,  of  so  much 
importance  that  I  should  make  a  formal  visit  in  order  to  commu- 
nicate it  to  him." 

She  reflected  for  a  moment;  then  said:  "If  you  will  wait  a 
little,  I  can  promise  you  a  good  opportunity.  After  Easter  we 
shall  make  some  excursions  to  the  hills,  and  probably  Count  Wal- 
degrave will  be  of  the  party — at  least,  one  can  easily  arrange  that 
he  shall  be.  In  the  mean  time,  it  is  not  likely  that  he  will  see 
Irdne.  I  mean  to  discontinue  my  receptions  during  the  two  com- 
ing weeks,  and  make  a  kind  of  retreat.  It  is  not  necessary  to 
enter  a  convent  for  the  purpose.  One  need  only  close  one's 
doors." 

"I  hope  you  do  not  mean  to  close  them  in  the  faces  of  all  your 
friends,"  said  he. 

She  looked  at  him  wita  a  faint  smile.     "You  know  that  they 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  323 

are  never  closed  in  yours"  she  said.  "  But  I  confess  that  I  should 
like  to  close  them  to  every  one  else." 

"  Even  " — he  hesitated  a  moment—"  to  M.  de  Chateaumes- 
nil  ? " 

"To  M.  de  Chateaumesnil  most  of  all,"  she  replied;  "because, 
as  you  are  probably  aware,  I  have  promised  to  answer  him,  and 
I  am  not  yet  decided  what  my  answer  shall  be.  His  presence, 
therefore,  though  he  is  the  most  considerate  of  suitors,  is  like  a 
reproach  to  my  delay." 

She  paused,  and  Stanhope  did  not  speak.  He  was,  in  truth, 
struggling  with  a  mighty  temptation — the  temptation  to  beg  her 
not  to  throw  away  her  life  in  a  loveless  marriage ;  to  tell  her  that 
one  heart,  at  least,  was  passionately  devoted  to  her.  But  this 
seemed  to  him  like  disloyalty,  almost  like  treachery,  to  his  friend ; 
and  while  he  struggled,  doubted,  well-nigh  yielded,  she  rose  ab- 
ruptly from  her  chair. 

"  Do  not  think  that  I  mean  to  ask  your  advice,"  she  said.  "  I 
am  well  aware  that  one  must  decide  for  one's  self  in  a  matter  of 
this  kind.  Come,  now,  and  tell  me  what  you  think  of  a  picture 
which  I  bought  yesterday.  I  had  not  Lionel  to  assist  me  in  the 
purchase,  for  you  know  that  he  has  gone  with  some  artist  friends 
to  the  hills — so  I  do  not  know  whether  or  not  I  have  been 
cheated." 

To  answer  for  others  is  not  often  safe ;  but  to  answer  for  that 
chance  which  depends  on  the  accidents  of  life  is  most  conspicu- 
ously unsafe.  Mrs.  Falconer  had  said  that  it  was  not  likely  that 
Count  Waldegrave  would  see  Irene  again  until  it  should  please 
herself  to  allow  a  meeting ;  but  the  perverse  fate  which  had  pre- 
sided over  their  meetings  from  the  first  stepped  in,  and  brought 
them  face  to  face  in  St.  John  Lateran  on  Palm-Sunday. 

Accompanied  by  Mrs.  Vance,  Irene  went  there  for  high  mass; 
but,  apart  from  the  great  dignity  and  historic  renown  of  the  Lat- 
eran, the  beautiful  singing  of  its  choir  always  attracts  a  crowd  ; 
so  they  found,  on  their  arrival,  a  throng  already  gathered  around 
the  tribune.  The  impregnable  English — chiefly  represented  by 
women  in  seal-skin  jackets,  who  plant  their  camp-stools  with  an 
air  of  taking  a  redoubt — were  established  many  file  deep.  An 


324  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

American  gentleman,  however,  courteously  surrendered  to  Mrs. 
Vance  one  of  the  few  available  seats,  and  Irene  contentedly  knelt 
down  behind  her  on  the  marble  pavement,  near  one  of  the  great 
pillars.  They  had  not  long  to  wait  until  the  celebrant  with  his 
train  of  acolytes  appeared  before  the  altar,  the  canons  in  their 
purple  robes  and  white  capes  filed  into  their  stalls,  and  the  solemn 
mass  of  Palm-Sunday  began. 

If  it  is  impressive  everywhere — even  in  the  humblest  chapel 
of  the  New  World — what  was  it  in  this  august  basilica,  the  Pope's 
cathedral,  the  ''Mother  and  Head  of  all  Churches,"*  with  its 
host  of  glorious  memories  ?  When  the  ceremony  of  blessing  the 
palms  was  over,  and  the  procession  bearing  them  moved  down  the 
grand  nave  to  the  magnificent  anthems  which  tell  how  "  The  He- 
brew children  carrying  palm-branches  met  our  Lord,  crying  out 
and  saying,  '  Hosanna  in  the  highest  1 '  The  Hebrew  children 
spread  their  garments  in  the  way  and  cried  out,  saying,  '  Hosanna 
to  the  Son  of  David  1  Blessed  is  he  that  cometh  in  the  name  of 
the  Lord ! '  " — Irene  felt  as  if  the  great  Lateran  walls  expanded  in 
direct  vista  to  Jerusalem,  where  the  multitude  went  forth  to  meet 
the  King  who  came  to  mount  his  awful  throne  of  love.  The  sol- 
emn vastness  of  the  church,  spreading  on  all  sides  into  dim  ob- 
scurity, made  a  noble  background  for  the  stately  forms,  the  robes 
of  splendid  colors,  the  starry  lights,  the  clouds  of  incense,  the 
massive  golden  cross  borne  aloft  as  a  standard.  From  tomb  and 
chapel  and  shrine,  the  ages  that  had  passed — and  in  passing  wit- 
nessed how  many  repetitions  of  this  scene ! — seemed  looking  on 
with  the  steadfast  calm  of  eternity,  while  the  silver  voices  rang 
through  nave  and  aisle  and  transept,  telling  the  old,  old  story  in  a 
series  of  strophes  which  increase  in  beauty  until  they  cry  with 
inspired  fervor,  "  In  faith  we  be  united  with  the  angels,  and  those 
children  crying  to  the  triumpher  over  death,  '  Hosanna  in  the 
highest!'" 

Far  and  yet  farther  these  voices  recede.  The  procession  grows 
indistinguishable  to  the  sight — then  disappears.  It  has  passed  into 
the  great  portico,  and  when  it  returns  it  finds  the  doors  closed,  to 

*  The  ancient  west  front  of  the  Lateran  bears  the  inscription,  "  Sacro- 
sancta  Lateranensis  ecclesia  omnium  urbis  et  orbis  ecclesiarum  mater  et 
captit." 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  325 

represent  how  heaven's  gates  were  barred  against  lost  man.  A 
semi-chorus  within  sings  the  first  two  verses  of  the  hymn,  "  Gloria, 
laus,  et  honor,"  and  the  full  chorus  replies  from  without — sounds 
that  seem  infinitely  remote  and  of  the  most  solemn  pathos.  At 
the  conclusion,  the  sub-deacon  strikes  the  door  with  the  staff  of 
the  cross  which  he  bears,  to  denote  that  through  the  redemption 
of  the  cross  the  gates  of  heaven  were  unbarred.  Then  the  doors 
are  thrown  open  and  the  procession  enters,  the  chorus  with  a 
burst  of  harmony  recounting  the  final  entry  of  our  Lord's  trium- 
phal procession  into  the  holy  city. 

Irene  felt  herself  thrilled  in  every  fiber.  Past  and  present 
seemed  merged  for  her  into  one  glorious  whole.  It  was  a  splendid 
burst  of  color,  as  well  as  of  harmony,  which  the  opening  of  those 
massive  doors  revealed.  A  vision  of  blue  hills  and  tender  sky,  far 
away,  threw  out  the  gleaming  robes,  the  burnished  cross,  all  the 
majestic  form  of  homage  which  man  has  been  offering  to  God  in 
this  old  sanctuary  of  faith  for  fifteen  centuries.  She  looked  at  the 
procession  advancing,  with  its  standard  borne  in  front,  its  palms, 
the  emblems  of  victory;  its  glad,  jubilant  song — and  then  she 
glanced  up  to  where,  over  the  arch  of  the  tribune,  a  grand  mosaic 
head  of  oar  Lord,  attributed  to  the  time  of  Constantino,  and  evi- 
dently of  the  fourth  century,  looks  down.  Around  it  are  the  six- 
winged  seraphim;  afar,  the  New  Jerusalem,  the  entrance  into 
which  this  mysterioiis  procession  typified,  as  did  that  other  pro- 
cession of  eighteen  centuries  ago. 

The  long  train  having  re-entered  the  sanctuary,  the  canons 
being  again  in  their  stalls,  the  celebrant,  with  his  attendants,  be- 
fore the  altar,  the  mass  proceeded.  On  this  day  the  entire  history 
of  the  Passion  forms  a  part  of  it,  and  was  chanted  by  three  voices 
of  exquisite  beauty.  The  one  which  sustained  the  narrative  was 
a  tenor  of  rare  sweetness ;  the  words  of  our  Saviour  were  given 
in  a  deep,  rich  bass,  and  those  of  any  other  persons  in  a  high  con- 
tralto. No  music  could  be  worthy  of  such  a  theme  save  that  in 
which  it  was  sung — the  noble,  simple  chant  born  of  Catholic  wor- 
ship, and  belonging  essentially  to  it.  The  voices  carried  a  pene- 
trating sense  of  what  they  expressed,  even  to  those  who  did  not 
follow  the  text.  Long  as  it  is,  monotonous  as  it  might  have 
seemed,  not  a  movement  was  heard  in  all  the  throng  while  the 


326  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

touching  cadences  rose  and  fell  in  the  sorrowful  history  given  by 
St.  Matthew. 

As  Irene  leaned  against  the  pillar,  in  her  black  draperies,  her 
eye  fastened  on  the  spot  in  the  sanctuary  whence  the  voices 
proceeded,  she  seemed  to  Waldegrave,  who  stood  near,  but  on 
whom  as  yet  her  glance  had  not  fallen,  to  be  absorbed  in  listening. 
In  truth,  her  thoughts  were  taking  a  wide  sweep.  She  heard  the 
shouts  of  the  Jewish  multitude,  she  saw  the  temporizing  Roman 
governor,  the  indifferent  Roman  soldiers,  the  divine  figure  of  the 
Victim,  beaten  with  many  stripes  and  crowned  with  thorns,  bear- 
ing his  cross  to  the  height  of  Calvary.  And  then  she  saw  how, 
in  all  ages,  this  tragedy  has  been  repeated — how,  in  the  person  of 
his  Church,  of  his  faithful  servants,  of  his  vicar,  Christ  is  con- 
tinually being  led  forth  by  a  furious  rabble  to  be  crucified  afresh, 
while  the  temporizing  or  indifferent  world  looks  on.  Certain 
words  of  solemn  warning  recurred  to  her :  "  The  servant  is  not 
greater  than  his  master.  If  they  have  persecuted  ME,  they  will 
also  persecute  you." 

She  had  forgotten  possible  weariness  in  these  thoughts,  when 
her  drapery  was  lightly  touched,  and  she  turned,  to  see  Waldegrave 
standing  by  her  with  a  camp-stool  in  his  hand. 

u  I  have  been  watching  you  for  some  time,"  he  said,  in  a  low 
tone,  "  and  I  am  sure  you  must  be  very  tired.  "Will  you  not  take 
this  and  sit  down?  " 

"  Thank  you ;  but  I  am  not  tired,''  she  answered.  "  I  will  not 
deprive  you — " 

"  You  will  not  be  depriving  me,"  he  interposed.  "  I  do  not 
use  such  a  seat.  I  thought  you  looked  weary,  so  I  obtained  it  for 
you." 

After  this  it  was  impossible  to  refuse,  and  Irene  sat  down. 
She  was  conscious  that  Waldegrave  stood  by  her,  leaning  against 
the  pillar  as  she  had  done  before.  Once  she  looked  toward  him. 
He  was  standing  like  a  statue,  with  that  absolute  quietude  which 
is  rightly  held  to  belong  to  high-breeding,  yet  which  is  rare,  even 
in  the  most  high-bred.  And,  as  he  stood  uncovered,  the  hand 
which  held  his  hat  hanging  by  his  side,  it  struck  her  suddenly, 
with  the  force  of  a  new  discovery,  that  he  was  a  singularly  hand- 
some man.  But  it  was  a  severe  type  of  beauty — clear-cut,  pale, 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  327 

and  cold.  The  broad,  perpendicular  brow  expressed  intellectual 
force;  the  deep  eyes  had  a  penetrating  power  that  seemed  made 
to  find  Truth  at  the  bottom  of  her  deepest  well ;  while  the  mouth 
and  chin,  if  fit  for  Antinous,  were  also  without  a  trace  of  soften- 
ing weakness.  He  looked  like  one  on  whom  Nature  had  set  her 
seal  of  ruler,  but  set  it  with  so  much  nobility  and  loftiness  that  it 
was  impossible  to  imagine  him  descending  to  anything  petty  or 
base.  Involuntarily  Irdne  found  herself  thinking,  "Would  he 
use  his  strength  to  crush  a  woman  if  she  stood  in  the  path  of  his 
ambition  ? " 

But  it  was  only  for  a  moment  that  glance  or  thought  lasted. 
She  quickly  turned  both  her  eyes  and  mind  away.  The  long 
Gospel  was  now  ending,  and  the  solemn  part  of  the  mass  com- 
mencing. Not  until  all  was  over,  and  she  rose  from  her  knees, 
did  she  look  toward  Waldegrave  again.  Then,  when  she  turned 
to  thank  him  for  the  seat  he  had  provided,  he  quietly  joined  Mrs. 
Vance  and  herself  as  they  walked  down  the  nave,  instead  of  fol- 
lowing the  greater  part  of  the  crowd  in  their  exit  by  the  transept. 
Near  the  door  they  met  the  gentleman — a  well-known  acquaint- 
ance— who  had  surrendered  his  seat  to  Mrs.  Vance,  and  they 
emerged  together  into  the  portico,  where  the  warm,  soft  air  met 
them  like  a  caress,  and  the  tender  beauty  of  the  spring  day  burst 
upon  them  with  a  sense  of  freshly  revealed  charm. 

There  are  many  beautiful  views  to  be  seen  in  the  seven-hilled 
city,  many  a  majestic  picture  to  be  imprinted  on  the  mind  and 
heart,  but  among  them  all  there  is  none  more  glorious  than  this 
view  from  the  great  west  front  of  the  Lateran.  Immediately  be- 
fore it  is  that  open  grassy  sweep  which  was  the  favorite  prome- 
nade of  the  mediaeval  popes  during  the  thousand  years  of  their 
residence  in  the  old  palace  of  the  Lateran.  What  sumptuous 
pictures  of  those  warlike  and  heroic  ages  this  space  recalls !  The 
sunlight,  which  lies  so  quietly  on  the  green  turf  and  the  long  ave- 
nue of  mulberry-trees  stretching  away  to  Santa  Croce,  has  lit  up 
glancing  steel  and  floating  banners,  splendid  processions  flashing 
with  light  and  color,  as  emperors,  kings,  ernbassadors,  and  prel- 
ates came  hither  in  state,  when  all  nations  owned  a  Father  and 
an  Arbiter  in  the  Vicar  of  Christ.  Five  general  councils  have 
met  here  and  passed  into  the  basilica  to  deliberate  on  questions 


328  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

as  wide  as  the  world  and  stretching  beyond  the  world  into  eter- 
nity. Here  St.  Francis,  coming  from  Assisi  to  obtain  permission 
to  found  the  great  Franciscan  order,  flung  himself  at  the  feet  of 
Innocent  III ;  and  in  this  church  he  met  St.  Dominic  for  the  first 
time.  Here  treachery  opened  the  Lateran  gate  to  Henry  IV  of 
Germany,  after  a  siege  of  three  years ;  and  here  Kobert  Guiscard, 
with  his  mailed  chivalry  at  his  back,  came  to  punish  the  venal  city 
with  fire  and  sword.  Here  Gregory  VII  lifted  up  his  voice  for 
the  last  time  in  public,  in  the  council  convoked  to  denounce  these 
outrages — that  voice  which  was  to  say  in  dying,  "I  have  loved 
justice  and  hated  iniquity ;  therefore  I  die  in  exile."  And  to 
whom  the  majestic  reply  was  uttered,  "  Because  God  has  given 
thee  the  heathen  for  thine  inheritance  and  the  uttermost  parts  of 
the  earth  for  thy  possession,  Vicar  of  Christ,  in  exile  thou  canst 
not  die." 

Such  are  the  memories  which  in  this  spot  crowd  upon  the 
mind.  And  meanwhile  the  world  has  no  lovelier  picture  than 
that  which  lies  before  the  gaze.  The  old  Aurelian  wall  with  its 
rich  tones  of  color ;  the  many-hued  Campagna  spreading  beyond, 
and  crossed  by  the  massive  broken  arches  of  the  Claudian  aque- 
duct, which  stretch  over  the  vast  plain  until  lost  in  the  magic 
haze  of  distance ;  the  Alban  heights,  swimming  in  light  and  sown 
with  spots  of  pearl,  like  a  vision  of  celestial  mountains  rather 
than  steeps  which  mortal  feet  can  climb ;  the  exquisite  Sabine 
Hills,  with  Monte  Genaro  lifting  his  stately  crest  to  greet  the  far- 
ther Apennines ;  and  near  at  hand,  seen  across  the  wide,  open 
common  set  with  avenues  of  trees,  the  basilica  of  Santa  Croce 
with  its  memories  of  Santa  Helena  and  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  the 
ruins  of  an  ancient  temple,  and  the  groves  and  gardens  of  the 
Villa  "Wolkonski,  bright  with  masses  of  delicate-tinted  bloom  and 
dark  with  the  shade  of  ilex  and  cypress. 

Irene,  on  whom  this  scene  had  always  an  effect  even  deeper 
than  the  music  to  which  she  had  likened  it,  uttered  a  low  ex- 
clamation when  they  emerged  from  the  church  and  its  full  radi- 
ance burst  on  them  —  a  vision  of  luminous  distance,  of  Titan 
arches,  of  blue,  soft  hills  on  the  far  horizon.  "Waldegrave  turned 
to  her  with  a  smile.  "  It  makes  a  noble  conclusion,  does  it  not? " 
he  said. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  329 

She  looked  at  Mm  with  a  quick  flash  of  comprehension. 
"Yes,"  she  answered,  "  and  a  conclusion  in  perfect  harmony.  It 
is  a  fit  end  for  all  that  we  have  seen  and  heard." 

"  I  am  glad  we  came,"  observed  Mrs.  Vance.  "  The  services 
have  been  most  interesting  and  the  music  magnificent.  But  if  it 
had  not  been  that  Mr.  Merry  was  kind  enough  to  give  me  his 
seat,  I  should  have  been  very  tired,"  she  added,  turning  to  that 
gentleman. 

"  I  think  that  when  we  next  go  to  a  long  ceremony,  we  must 
take  camp-stools  like  the  English,"  said  Irene,  laughing.  "  They 
have  their  use,  though  they  do  not  seem  appropriate  to  the  spirit 
of  devotion  which  fills  the  air  of  a  Roman  basilica." 

"  But  you  are  made  of  body  as  well  as  of  spirit,"  said  Walde- 
grave,  "  and  therefore  no  amount  of  devotion  can  support  you  in 
kneeling  for  hours  on  a  hard  marble  floor." 

"  It  does  seem  to  support  people,  however,"  said  Mr.  Merry. 
"  In  wandering  about  the  churches  I  am  constantly  struck  with 
wonder  and  admiration  at  the  devotion  exhibited  in  this  manner. 
I  am  a  strong  man,  but  I  do  not  think  I  could  kneel  on  a  cold 
pavement  for  the  length  of  time  that  I  see  many  delicate  women 
doing." 

"  You  have  not  the  inward  fire  to  warm  and  support  you  that 
they  have,"  said  Irene,  glancing  at  him  with  a  smile. 

"  I  suppose  not,"  he  answered,  returning  the  smile,  and  think- 
ing more  of  the  beauty  of  the  face  thus  revealed  than  of  the  in- 
ward fire  which  he  lacked. 

Mrs.  Vance  was  meanwhile  looking  anxiously  around  the  large 
empty  piazza.  "  The  carriage  does  not  seem  to  have  arrived," 
she  said,  "  though  I  told  Giovanni  to  be  sure  and  return  for  us." 

"  Coachmen  sometimes  need  a  little  grace  as  well  as  other 
people,"  said  Mr.  Merry.  "  Since  yon  have  to  wait,  let  us  enjoy 
this  delicious  air  and  sunlight  by  walking  to  the  wall  yonder." 

Every  one  assenting,  they  descended  the  steps  of  the  portico 
and  walked  slowly  across  the  open  grassy  space  to  the  wall,  which 
the  height  of  the  ground  on  the  inner  side  renders  low  enough  to 
be  overlooked,  even  when  standing  immediately  beside  it.  And 
as  Irene  so  stood  and  gazed  over  the  beautiful  scene,  its  radiance 
seemed  reflected  in  her  face.  All  was  peace  and  stillness  around 


330  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

them.  A  bright  carpet  of  flowers  spread  to  the  foot  of  the  old 
wall,  where  such  carnage  has  often  raged.  Out  in  the  plain  a 
lark  rose  up  suddenly — singing  as  it  soared ;  a  distant  cloud- 
shadow  fell  over  Tusculum  and  Frascati ;  the  fair  blue  sky  bent 
down  to  kiss  the  hills  as  if  in  an  everlasting  covenant  of  amity, 
and  the  soft,  fitful  breeze  was  laden  with  the  odor  of  countless 
blossoms. 

"  How  beautiful  it  is!  "  said  Irene,  speaking  at  length,  softly, 
and  unaware  that  only  Waldegrave  was  within  sound  of  her  voice. 
"  And  how  hard  it  seems  to  return  to  the  petty  things  of  life  after 
one  has  been  stirred  by  noble  thoughts  and  far-reaching  emo- 
tions !  "  She  paused  a  moment,  then  went  on :  "It  is  like  stand- 
ing on  a  mountain — one  never  wants  to  go  down  to  the  plain 
again." 

"  But  is  it  not  a  good  thing  to  be  able  to  stand  on  a  mountain 
now  and  then?"  asked  Waldegrave.  "There  are  many  people 
unable  to  leave  the  plain — people  to  whom  high  thought  or  ex- 
alted emotion  is  impossible  ?  " 

She  turned  her  face  toward  him — its  radiance  slightly  touched 
with  wistfulness.  "  Perhaps,  after  all,  they  are  happiest,"  she 
said.  "  They  live  on  a  dead-level,  and  never  know  the  longing  of 
the  spirit  to  spread  its  wings,  the  aversion  to  descending  from 
some  height  of  feeling." 

"That  aversion  is  the  penalty  which  must  be  paid  for  exalta- 
tion," he  answered.  "  And  do  you  not  see  that  it  is  well  ?  If  the 
feet  which  are  '  beautiful  upon  the  mountains '  did  not  sometimes 
come  down  to  those  in  the  plain,  life  would  be  a  duller,  a  more 
sordid,  a  more  commonplace  thing  than  it  is.  And  you  can  carry 
the  noble  thoughts  with  you — like  a  fragrance  of  incense  from  the 
altar." 

"I  wish  that  I  could,"  she  said,  simply,  looking  away  again 
toward  the  heavenly  hills. 

"  I  can  answer  that  you  do,"  he  replied ;  "  and,  more  than  that, 
you  waken  them  in  others." 

The  words  were  not  words  of  compliment,  but  spoken  in  a 
tone  of  quiet  sincerity,  and  they  pierced  her  with  a  quick  sense  of 
compunction.  If  he  had  read  her  heart,  could  the  bitterness  with 
which  it  overflowed  have  awakened  noble  thoughts  in  him? 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  331 

Standing  here  on  this  Palm-Sunday,  with  the  songs  of  unearthly 
triumph  still  ringing  in  her  ears,  and  the  story  of  divine  forgive- 
ness fresh  in  her  memory,  she  seemed  for  a  moment  of  time  to  be 
lifted  to  the  height  on  which  her  mother  had  stood  when  she  said 
that  no  wrong  was  worth  resentment ;  and  the  light  of  this  thought 
was  in  her  eyes  when  she  turned  them  hack  to  Waldegrave. 

"I  have  not  deserved  for  you  to  feel  in  that  way  about  me," 
she  said,  low  yet  quickly.  "  I  do  not  think  I  could  ever  have 
wakened  noble  thoughts  in  you — for  my  own  have  not  been  noble 
when  I  have  been  with  you." 

"  I  know  that,"  he  said,  with  the  same  quietness.  "  But,  though 
a  cloud  may  pass  over  a  beautiful  landscape  and  darken  it,  we  feel 
that  it  is  beautiful  notwithstanding  the  shadow.  So  it  is  with  you. 
Whenever  I  have  been  near  you,  a  cloud  has  thrown  its  shadow 
over  you,  but  I  saw  the  landscape  underneath.  And  I  have  seen 
it  smile  for  others." 

The  last  words  touched  her :  the  sense  of  compunction  grew 
stronger.  The  thought  came  again  to  her,  Was  this  man  to  blame 
for  the  wrong  which  had  blasted  her  mother's  life  and  darkened 
her  own  ?  And  was  there  not  something  of  stupidity  as  well  as 
of  malice  in  hating  one  not  accountable  for  the  wrong-doing  of 
another?  She  looked  at  him  again  with  her  candid  eyes. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  she  said,  gently,  "  that  we  can  never  be  friends 
— things  of  which  you  know  nothing  forbid  it — but  the  landscape 
can  at  least  smile  for  you  as  for  others.  There  is  no  harm  in 
that." 

"I  feel  the  sunshine  to-day — and  I  am  grateful  for  it,"  he  re- 
plied. "  But  will  you  let  me  ask  why  I  can  never  hope  to  obtain 
any  friendly  consideration  from  you?  It  is  surely  not  only  be- 
cause I  am  a  German  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  answered.     "  It  is  not  because  you  are  a  German." 

"It  is  something  personal  to  myself,  then,"  he  said,  with  a 
slight  smile.  "  It  is  less  flattering  to  be  disliked  on  personal  than 
on  national  grounds  ;  but  there  is  more  hope  of  overcoming  such 
a  dislike.  One  may  perhaps  change  what  is  obnoxious  in  one's 
self,  though  one  can  not  change  one's  country." 

"  I  have  said  nothing  of  disliking  you,"  she  said,  quickly — for 
Mrs.  Vance  and  Mr.  Merry,  who  had  walked  toward  the  Porta, 


332  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

were  now  returning — "  I  have  no  cause  ;  it  would  be  unjust  and 
foolish  in  me.  But  there  is  a  wide  ground  between  dislike  and 
friendship,  and  on  that  ground  we  must  remain.  Friendship  is  no 
more  possible  between  you  and  me,  Count  Waldegrave,  than  it  is 
possible  for  you  to  make  yourself  over  again  and  disown  your 
name  and  your  country!  " 

Despite  herself,  something  of  the  repressed  passion  within  her 
made  itself  manifest  in  those  words ;  and  it  seemed  to  Waldegrave 
that  he  had  never  met  anything  like  the  proud  fire  of  her  glance. 
There  was  no  time  to  remonstrate  or  demand  an  explanation,  had 
he  been  disposed  to  do  so.  But,  in  truth,  he  was  more  astonished 
than  offended.  The  sense  of  surprise  and  mystery  excluded  any 
thought  of  mortified  self-love.  There  was  no  room  to  doubt 
her  earnestness ;  and  since  his  nationality  was  not  the  mot  de 
Venigme,  he  felt  unable  to  conjecture  what  it  could  be.  One  thing 
only  was  plain — there  was  no  need  for  the  defensive  armor  he 
had  been  inclined  to  assume.  Why  should  he  put  himself  on  his 
guard  against  interest  in  a  girl  who  told  him  that  even  friendship 
was  impossible  between  them  ? 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

MKS.  FALCONER  found  that  it  was  not  altogether  possible  to 
close  her  doors,  as  she  had  told  Stanhope  that  she  desired  to  do. 
There  were  others  beside  himself  who  had  established  a  familiar 
right  of  entrance  into  her  salon,  who  were  in  the  habit  of  dropping 
in  for  a  cup  of  tea  and  an  hour  of  pleasant  talk  in  the  evening, 
whether  she  was  formally  at  home  or  not.  And  there  was  no 
part  of  the  agreeable  freedom  of  her  life  which  she  enjoyed  more 
than  these  informal  gatherings  of  people,  whose  conversation  gen- 
erally ranged  over  the  highest  topics— the  discussion  of  great 
questions,  brightened  now  and  then  by  gay  bits  of  social  satire  or 
light  persiflage. 

A  group  of  this  kind  had  assembled  one  evening  in  Holy  Week. 
Lady  Dorchester  came  first  with  the  Bevises,  who  were  just  re- 
turned from  a  visit  to  Naples.  Stanhope  and  the  Marquis  de 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  333 

Chateamnesnil  soon  followed.  After  which  appeared  Erne  and 
Mr.  Neville  with  a  portfolio  of  sketches — the  result  of  a  fortnight's 
wandering  among  the  Volscian  Hills.  It  was  the  first  time  that 
Ir&ne  had  seen  Erne  since  their  memorable  walk  in  the  Quinctian 
meadows,  and  she  met  him  with  the  eager  cordiality  of  one  who 
wishes  to  efface  a  painful  reminiscence.  Indeed,  there  was  some- 
thing almost  appealing  in  her  manner — something  which  seemed 
begging  him  to  forget  and  be  friends  again. 

It  was  an  appeal  to  which  the  young  man  was  ready  enough 
to  respond.  There  was  in  him  none  of  the  vanity  which  finds  it 
impossible  to  forgive  such  a  wound.  Though  he  had  rushed  away 
in  his  first  sore  pain,  he  soon  reminded  himself  that  he  had  no  one 
to  blame,  no  right  to  feel  injury  or  disappointment.  He  had  will- 
fully courted  rejection,  and  the  result  was  his  own  fault.  "I 
have  been  a  fool — that  is  all!  "  he  thought ;  and  when  a  man  has 
this  basis  of  sound  knowledge,  much  may  be  hoped  from  him. 

The  sketches  naturally  suggested  the  subject  of  conversation 
for  some  time.  Every  one  examined  and  commented  upon  them, 
while  Irene  expressed  an  eager  desire  to  see  some  of  the  places 
represented — especially  Cori  and  Norba. 

"But  we  have  not  yet  been  to  Albano  or  Tivoli,"  said  Mrs. 
Falconer.  "  Let  us  begin  by  making  excursions  which  are  within 
reasonable  distance." 

"Tivoli  is  considered  the  most  attractive  of  all  the  places  in 
the  immediate  neighborhood  of  Rome,"  said  Mrs.  Bevis.  "If 
none  of  us  have  been  there,  why  should  we  not  begin  with  that  ?  " 

"There  is  no  reason  why  we  should  not,"  answered  her  hus- 
band. "  Of  course,  no  one  wishes  to  leave  Rome  this  week ;  but 
on  the  first  convenient  day  after  Easter  we  can  go  to  Tivoli — if 
Mrs.  Falconer  approves." 

Mrs.  Falconer  expressed  her  approval.  "  And  who  will  be 
of  the  party  ? "  she  asked. 

Lady  Dorchester,  at  whom  she  looked,  smiled  and  shook  her 
head.  "  I  have  no  great  liking  for  rocks  and  water-falls,"  she  said. 
"  '  I  pray  thee  hold  me  excused.'  " 

Mr.  Neville  also  declined — pleading  want  of  time  and  the  fact 
that  he  had  once  spent  a  month  at  Tivoli,  and  therefore  knew  it 
well. 


334:  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"  Then  I  should  think  you  would  be  all  the  more  anxious  to 
go,"  said  Irene,  turning  to  him.  "Surely,  familiarity  with  a 
beautiful  place  does  not  lessen  its  charm  for  you  ? " 

"  I  am  not  so  stupid,"  he  answered,  with  a  smile.  "  And  if  I 
were  a  man  of  leisure  I  should  like  nothing  better  than  to  go — 
especially  if  I  might  claim  the  privilege  of  being  your  guide — but 
I  have  just  spent  ten  days  in  rambling.  Now  I  must  shut  myself 
up  in  my  studio  and  work." 

"  And  you  ? "  said  Irene,  looking  at  Erne.  "  Surely  you  will 
come  with  us? " 

"If  I  were  wise,"  he  answered  with  a  slightly  melancholy 
smile,  "  I  should  feel  bound  also  to  shut  myself  up  in  my  studio 
and  work." 

"But  your  tone  implies  that  you  will  not  be  wise,"  she  said. 
"  So  I  hope  you  will  go  to  Tivoli.  And  after  that  you  must  help 
me  to  carry  the  point  about  Cori  and  Norba.  I  shall  not  be  satis- 
fied until  I  have  seen  this  " — taking  up,  as  she  spoke,  a  sketch  of 
the  cyclopean  citadel  of  Norba. 

"  That  is  grand,"  said  Mr.  Neville ;  "  but  what  will  enchant 
you  most  is  Ninfa — '  the  Pompeii  of  the  middle  ages.'  Imagine 
a  city  deserted  by  its  inhabitants  and  converted  by  Nature  into  a 
capital  of  Flora,  where  castles,  walls,  convents,  and  churches  are 
buried  in  flowers  of  countless  variety  and  boundless  profusion. 
These  flowers  fill  the  streets,  they  form  the  congregations  of  the 
churches,  they  sentinel  the  towers  and  ramparts.  It  is  the  wild- 
est, the  strangest,  the  most  beautiful  and  most  fairy-like  scene  I 
have  ever  beheld  1 " 

"But  what  is  the  meaning  of  it?  "  asked  Irene.  "Why  was 
the  city  deserted  by  its  inhabitants?  " 

"Nobody  knows.  It  is  a  mystery.  Perhaps  they  are  there 
under  a  spell  of  enchantment,  as  flowers.  It  is  not  difficult  to  be- 
lieve in  fairies  and  their  spells  in  Ninfa." 

"  "What  an  enchanting  as  well  as  enchanted  place  it  must  be !  " 
said  the  girl.  "  I  shall'  certainly  go  there !  " 

"  Take  care  when  you  go,"  said  the  painter,  "  for  the  real  spell 
of  enchantment  is  the  fever.  Even  the  shepherds  dare  not  pass 
a  night  within  the  walls.  Under  every  flower  there  lurks  the  dart 
of  death." 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  335 

"And,  as  the  season  advances,  the  danger  is  greater,"  said 
Erne.  "  On  that  account  I  wish  it  were  possible  for  you  to  go  at 
once.  For,  as  Mr.  Neville  says,  it  is  unique — there  is  nothing  like 
it  in  the  world.  The  massive  feudal  architecture  is  covered  with  a 
sea  of  flowers.  The  walls  of  the  city  are  like  a  green  rampart — ivy 
overspreads  every  inch  of  them,  and  flowers  wave  triumphantly,  like 
banners,  from  them.  Hans  Andersen  ought  to  have  gone  to  Ninfa. 
It  makes  one  think  of  just  such  wild,  exquisite  fancies  as  his." 

"  And  can  it  never  be  reclaimed  and  inhabited  again  ?  "  asked 
Irene. 

Mr.  Neville  shook  his  head.  "  Never,"  he  answered.  "  The 
marvel  is  that  it  ever  should  have  been  inhabited.  The  Pontine 
marshes  lie  at  its  door.  The  Nymphseus — a  beautiful  foaming 
stream  which  flows  past  it — falls  into  a  lake  which  is  the  very 
haunt  of  fever,  and  just  outside  the.  walls  is  a  pool  covered  with 
water-lilies  and  fringed  with  forget-me-nots,  from  which  the 
deadly  miasma  rises  constantly." 

"It  was  into  this  pool  that  the  maiden  from  whom,  according 
to  tradition,  the  town  received  its  name,  flung  herself  in  order  to 
escape  marrying  an  unsympathetic  partito,"  said  Erne.  "  And 
in  the  lake  into  which  the  Nymphasus  empties,  Pliny  mentions 
that  in  his  time  there  were  floating  islands  called  Saltuares,  be- 
cause they  were  said  to  move  to  the  measure  of  dancing  feet.  So 
you  see  Ninfa  is  decidedly  an  enchanted  place." 

"I  never  heard  anything  like  it !  "  said  Ir6ne.  "  Have  you  a 
picture  of  it  ?  " 

Erne  turned  over  the  sheets  in  the  portfolio,  and  presently 
drew  forth  a  sketch  of  a  tower  rising  above  an  ivy-buried  wall, 
and  reflected  in  a  sheet  of  water  fringed  with  all  manner  of  flow- 
ers and  surrounded  by  tall  reeds. 

"It  was  from  this  tower  that  'la  bella  Ninfa'  flung  herself," 
he  said.  "  It  stands  at  the  entrance  of  the  town.  I  can  not  im- 
agine anything  more  impressive  than  its  appearance,  especially  to- 
ward sunset.  One  thinks  then  of  Virgil  and  Dante — of  souls  be- 
ing ferried  over  to  Hades  or  Purgatory.  One  can  fancy  no  figure 
except  that  of  Charon  on  the  glittering,  death-bearing  expanse, 
around  which  the  tall  reeds  rustle  mournfully,  and  only  the  sob- 
bing cry  of  the  water-hen  comes  at  intervals." 


336  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"  It  reminds  one  of  the  tower  that  Dante  described,  where  the 
souls  waited,"  said  Irene,  with  her  eyes  fastened  on  the  sketch. 
"  And  such  ideas  are  appropriate  to  a  place  of  which  Death  is  the 
supreme  ruler." 

"  That  fact  gives  it  the  last  touch  of  charm  and  mystery,"  said 
Mr.  Neville.  "Death  is  there — Death  triumphant  and  crowned 
with  flowers." 

"  I  am  sure  I  shall  dream  of  it  to-night,"  said  Irdne,  putting 
the  sketch  down.  "I  have  never  been  so  much  impressed  by  the 
mere  description  of  any  place.  I  should  like  to  go  there  directly, 
without  waiting  to  see  Tivoli  or  Albano,  or  any  other  place." 

Meanwhile  Colonel  Bevis,  in  talking  of  Tivoli,  had  mentioned 
Count  Waldegrave's  name.  "  He  would  be  a  pleasant  addition  to 
the  party,"  he  observed. 

"  Oh,  we  must  ask  him  by.  all  means,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  I 
feel  that  we  are  in  a  manner  bound  to  do  so." 

"  He  is  not  in  Eome  just  now,"  said  Lady  Dorchester.  "  I  met 
him  a  few  days  ago,  and  he  told  me  that  he  was  on  the  point  of 
leaving  for  Nice.  You  know  Prince  Waldegrave  is  there  at  pres- 
ent for  his  health." 

"Yes.  I  saw  his  arrival  there  announced  some  time  ago,"  said 
Mrs.  Falconer,  with  a  quick  glance  toward  Irene,  who,  she  was 
glad  to  perceive,  was  absorbed  in  the  subject  of  Ninfa. 

"He  had  just  arrived  when  we  were  in  Nice  a  month  ago," 
said  Colonel  Bevis.  "I  saw  him  driving  once  or  twice,  and 
thought  him  looking  very  badly." 

"People  always  look  badly  after  severe  illness,"  said  Lady 
Dorchester.  "  I  hope  he  is  not  failing.  Europe  has  not  so  many 
statesmen  that  she  can  afford  to  lose  one." 

"Prince  Waldegrave  is  more  fortunate  than  most  men,  inas- 
much as  his  mantle  will  fall  on  a  worthy  successor,"  said  M.  de 
Chateaumesnil.  "Count  Waldegrave  has  already  shown  that  he 
possesses  remarkable  ability." 

"He  is  very  clever,"  said  Lady  Dorchester,  "and  has  distin- 
guished himself,  I  believe,  in  political  affairs;  but  it  remains  to  be 
seen  whether  he  will  prove  as  great  a  man  as  his  uncle." 

"  He  will  have  to  prove  a  greater,  in  order  not  to  be  over- 
shadowed by  his  uncle's  fame,"  said  Stanhope.  "  That  is  the 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  337 

misfortune  of  inheriting  a  mantle — people  are  always  disposed  to 
aggrandize  the  dead  at  the  expense  of  the  living.  My  own  ac- 
quaintance with  Count  Waldegrave  is  very  slight,"  he  added,  after 
a  moment,  "  but  I  should  say  that  he  differs  in  one  important  re- 
spect from  his  uncle.  He  has  a  conscience." 

"  And  will  that  difference  make  him  a  greater  man  ? "  asked 
Lady  Dorchester. 

"It  will  make  him  essentially  a  greater  man,  but  it  may  make 
him  a  less  successful  one.  Prince  Waldegrave  has  allowed  no 
obstacle  to  stand  in  his  path.  He  has  seen  his  end  clearly,  and 
walked  to  it  with  that  hard  determination  which  is  not  trammeled 
by  any  considerations  of  right  or  wrong." 

"You  are  very  severe,"  said  Colonel  Bevis. 

"I  am  perfectly  just,"  answered  Stanhope,  "as  any  one  who 
is  familiar  with  his  history  is  aware/' 

"Oh,  for  that  matter,"  said  Lady  Dorchester,  "there  is  the 
least  possible  amount  of  true  greatness  in  the  world.  What  we 
have  to  put  up  with  is  mostly  a  counterfeit — not  greatness  but 
success." 

"  A  distinction  well  made,"  said  the  Marquis,  "  but  a  distinc- 
tion which  unfortunately  does  not  exist  for  the  majority  of  peo- 
ple. To  them  a  man  who  has  succeeded — a  man  who  has  put  his 
foot  on  the  necks  of  his  fellow-beings,  howsoever  the  feat  was 
accomplished — is  one  who  has  achieved  greatness.  Let  him  have 
been  guilty  of  what  falsity,  what  cruelty,  what  injustice  he  will, 
there  are  thousands  ready  to  do  him  honor." 

"And  to  envy  and  imitate  him,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "The 
effect  of  example  is  to  me  one  of  the  most  terrible  things  in  life." 

"  It  is  one  of  the  most  pervading,"  said  Stanhope.  "  No  one 
can  possibly  tell  how  far  it  extends.  One  man's  life  or  one  man's 
thought — influencing  in  turn  a  multitude  of  others — may  go  down 
through  ages,  gathering  its  tremendous  harvest  of  good  or  evil." 

"  It  ought  to  make  one  tremble,"  said  Lady  Dorchester ;  "only 
we  have  got  past  trembling  at  anything." 

"  And  our  standard  of  good  or  evil,  as  far  as  one  can  make 
out,  is  simply  success  or  failure,"  said  Colonel  Bevis. 

"  True,"  said  Stanhope.  "  It  is  an  absolutely  brutal  standard  ; 
but  no  other  appears  to  have  weight  or  meaning  to  the  modern 
15 


338  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

mind.  For  example,  we  are  told  repeatedly— told  until  our  ears 
are  weary  with  the  sound — that  prosperity  is  the  standard  by 
which  we  are  to  measure  the  worth  of  a  nation.  Let  a  country 
abound  with  material  wealth,  let  the  earth  tremble  under  the 
sound  of  its  manufactures,  and  the  sea  be  white  with  its  ships,  let 
it  build  great  cities  and  impose  its  rule  on  reluctant  myriads,  and 
whatever  virtues  have  perished  in  the  consuming  flame  of  that 
love  of  riches,  which  we  are  emphatically  told  in  an  antiquated 
volume  is  'the  root  of  all  evil,'  there  is  no  p^an  too  lofty  to  be 
sung  in  its  praise.  But  take  another  country,  where  there  is  no 
such  triumphant  prosperity,  but  where  the  people  are  brave,  hon- 
est, virtuous,  and,  above  all,  contented — let  it  be  anathema !  What, 
no  factories,  no  mines,  no  ships,  no  gamblers  on  a  stock-exchange, 
no  extremes  of  immense  wealth  and  poverty  such  as  cries  to  Heaven 
for  vengeance — really,  it  is  doubtful  if  such  a  country  can  be  said 
to  be  civilized !  " 

"  But,"  said  Colonel  Bevis,  "you  surely  do  not  think  it  neces- 
sarily follows  that  the  virtues  of  which  you  speak  must  perish  in 
the  midst  of  material  prosperity  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  answered  Stanhope,  unhesitatingly.  "  In  the 
race  for  wealth,  which  soon  becomes  the  controlling  passion  of 
such  a  nation,  there  is  no  place  for  them.  It  is  the  most  debasing 
of  all  the  ideals  that  have  ever  been  set  before  mankind." 

"And  it  is  that,"  said  the  Marquis,  "  which  is  the  foundation 
of  the  movement  that  is  threatening  Europe  with  social  and  polit- 
ical anarchy  to-day.  "When  you  put  material  prosperity  before 
men  as  the  only  end  of  human  effort — when  you  say  to  them, 
4  You  are  of  worth  only  as  you  possess  the  goods  of  the  world  ' — 
and  when  you  add  that  there  is  no  God  to  fear  and  no  heaven  to 
compensate  for  the  injustices  of  time,  what  can  be  expected  save 
that  which  is  sounding  in  our  ears — the  mad  cry  of  socialistic  re- 
volt? For  the  revolution,  as  we  know  it,  is  simply  Materialism 
carried  to  its  logical  conclusion.  If  the  only  facts  in  the  world 
are  the  properties  and  products  of  matter,  and  if  the  only  test  of 
right  and  wrong  is  the  will  of  a  majority,  what  answer  can  be 
made  to  the  movement  which  displays  itself  as  Communism,  as 
Socialism,  or  even  as  Nihilism?  What  can  be  expected  of  men 
who  have  for  their  evangel  the  Bill  of  Eights  of  the  French  Revo- 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  339 

Intion,  and  for  their  war-cry  '  Ni  Dieu,  ni  maitre  ! '  bat  the  nega- 
tion of  every  bond  which  holds  society  together  and  makes  gov- 
ernment possible?"  .. 

"  It  is  a  terrible  outlook,"  said  Colonel  Bevis.  "  But  I  think 
there  is  some  protection  in  the  common  sense  of  human  nature." 

"  Did  the  common  sense  of  human  nature  save  France  from 
the  Eeign  of  Terror  ?  "  asked  the  Marquis.  "  Common  sense  is 
like  straw  before  the  flame  of  human  passion.  I  do  not  say  that 
such  a  gigantic  tyranny  as  the  socialists  will  inaugurate  when  they 
get  the  upper  hand  can  last,  but  it  will  certainly  be  tried.  What 
else  is  going  on  in  France  now  ?  Every  step  is  toward  concen- 
trating all  power  in  the  state — which  is  the  ideal  of  Communism. 
They  have  struck  at  the  rights  of  paternity  in  making  education 
public  and  compulsory;  they  will  strike  next  at- the  rights  of 
property.  '  La,  propriete  <?est  le  vol!'1  is  one  of  the  first  articles 
of  their  creed.  No  man  is  to  be  allowed  to  accumulate  or  to  in- 
herit. The  state  is  to  be  tbe  sole  inheritor.  In  that  way  they 
mean  to  secure  the  visionary  equality  which  has  never  been,  and 
can  never  be,  realized." 

"A  more  monstrous  idea  was  never  conceived,"  said  Colonel 
Bevis.  "  Its  palpable  injustice  lies  in  the  fact  that  it  would  drag 
the  industrious  down  to  the  level  of  the  thriftless,  and  that,  in- 
stead of  elevating  human  nature,  it  would  degrade  it  to  absolute 
savagery." 

"  That  is  plain  to  you  and  to  me,1'  said  the  Marquis,  "  but  it 
contains  no  argument  for  the  multitude  whose  will,  according  to 
the  revolutionary  creed,  is  the  last  reason  of  power.  '  Since  we 
can  not  rise  to  your  level,  you  shall  come  down  to  ours ! '  they 
cry,  in  rage  against  all  wealth,  all  prosperity,  all  distinction  of 
rank.  And  what  appeal  have  you  ?  That  was  a  wise  saying  of  a 
great  ruler,  '  You  can  not  govern  a  people  who  have  forgotten  the 
life  eternal.'  Eliminate  the  idea  of  God — as  modern  thought  has 
eliminated  it— and  the  source  of  all  justice,  the  sanction  of  all 
moral  law,  is  gone.  Nothing  on  earth  can  stand  without  a  basis, 
and,  when  there  is  no  basis  of  acknowledged  right,  when  the  un- 
derlying principle  of  civil  power  is  simply  brute  force,  as  repre- 
sented in  the  will  of  a  dominant  multitude,  political  tyranny  and 
social  chaos  must  inevitably  follow." 


340  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"  The  tyranny,  undoubtedly,"  said  Lady  Dorchester.  "  I  saw, 
by-the-by,  a  capital  jeu  d'esprit  in  one  of  the  Paris  papers  the 
other  day — a  discussion  between  two  politicians.  Said  Number 
One,  '  So  you  are  still  fixed  in  your  aspirations  toward  republican- 
ism?' Answered  Number  Two :  'That  I  am.  I  stand  for  com- 
pulsory education,  the  obligatory  ballot — in  short,  for  the  regime 
of  complete  and  absolute  liberty ! '  " 

After  the  general  laugh  which  followed  this,  Mrs.  Falconer 
said,  "  Now,  in  order  to  give  a  more  cheerful  turn  to  our  thoughts, 
we  will  have  some  tea,  and  make  Irene  sing  for  us." 

Irene  was  very  willing  to  sing,  but  that  the  drawings  she  had 
been  looking  at  were  still  in  her  mind  was  evident,  for,  as  she 
went  to  the  piano,  she  asked  the  Marquis,  who  accompanied  her, 
if  he  had  ever  been  to  Ninfa. 

"  I  am  fascinated,  possessed  by  the  thought  of  it,"  she  said. 
"  I  should  like  to  go  there  to-morrow." 

"  And  why  should  you  not,  if  you  wish  to  do  so  ?  "  he  asked, 
having  the  vaguest  possible  idea  of  where  Ninfa  might  be. 

"  Oh,  I  fancy  it  is  some  distance  away,  though  I  do  not  know 
exactly  how  far,"  she  answered  ;  "  and  of  course  I  was  only  jest- 
ing when  I  spoke  of  to-morrow.  I  would  not,  on  any  account, 
leave  Kome  this  week.  But,  do  you  not  think  you  would  like  to 
see  a  town  of  the  middle  ages,  covered  with  ivy  and  inhabited 
only  by  flowers  ?  Mr.  Neville  says  that  it  is  the  most  fairy-like 
place  he  has  ever  seen  or  conceived." 

"  I  should  like  it  very  much,"  answered  the  Marquis,  to  whom 
her  enthusiasm  was  always  charming.  "  How  is  it  reached,  and 
when  shall  we  go  ? " 

"I  do  not  know  how  it  is  reached  or  when  we  shall  go,"  she 
answered,  smiling ;  "  but  I  wanted  to  be  sure  that,  when  I  propose 
it  as  an  objective  point  for  an  excursion,  you  will  be  on  my  side." 

"And  are  you  not  sure  of  that?  "  he  asked,  smiling  also.  "Am 
I  not  always  on  your  side  ?  I  should  be  on  your  side,  whatever 
you  proposed." 

She  was  so  accustomed  to  his  kind  words  and  admiring  regard 
that  neither  his  tone  nor  the  glance  which  accompanied  it  sur- 
prised her.  But  Mrs.  Falconer,  who  at  the  moment  chanced  to 
look  toward  them,  was  struck  by  the  expression  of  the  last.  There 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  341 

was  in  it  a  caressing  warmth — a  glow  of  feeling  real  and  deep — 
which  startled  her.  She  had  often  before  seen  the  Marquis  look 
at  Irene  with  admiration,  and  thought  no  more  of  it  than  that 
every  one  must  admire  such  a  beautiful  and  noble  creature ;  but 
now  she  felt  that  there  was  more  than  admiration  in  this  glance. 
Not  even  when  he  had  asked  her  to  bear  his  name  and  share  his 
life  had  there  been  any  such  look  in  his  eyes  for  her. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  Stanhope,  seeing  the  change 
that  came  over  her  face. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause  before  she  answered.  Then  she 
turned  to  him  with  a  slight  smile. 

"  Nothing,"  she  said.  "  It  might  have  been  something— some- 
thing very  serious — but  it  is  nothing." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  band  was  playing  on  the  Pincio,  the  air  was  filled  with 
the  fragrance  of  flowering  trees  and  shrubs,  the  atmosphere 
seemed  dissolving  into  gold  as  the  sun  sank  toward  the  west,  the 
revolving  procession  of  equipages  was  like  a  kaleidoscope  in  the 
contrasts  and  alternations  of  toilet  which  it  displayed — for  Eas- 
ter was  just  passed  and  Rome  had  not  yet  thinned  in  the  least — 
the  Piazzale  was  full  of  the  murmur  of  voices,  and  from  the  great 
terrace  the  city  seemed  swimming  in  radiant  mist,  out  of  which 
its  cupolas,  towers,  and  campanili  rose. 

"  After  all,  this  is  better  than  the  Promenade  des  Anglais,"  said 
the  younger  of  two  ladies,  whose  carriage  drew  up  where  they 
could  survey  the  whole  wide  scene  of  glorified  city  and  sunset 
sky,  the  great  dome  of  St.  Peter's  and  the  pines  of  Monte  Mario. 
But  it  was  not  on  this  noble  panorama  that  the  gaze  of  either  ot 
them  rested.  Their  glances  were  for  the  crowd — for  the  carriages 
in  which  ladies  in  beautiful  toilets  leaned  back  with  an  air  of 
graceful  languor,  and  for  the  cavaliers  of  various  nationalities  who 
with  uncovered  heads  stood  by  them  to  exchange  a  few  remarks 
or  utter  a  few  compliments.  "  It  might  have  been  better  if  we 
had  come  here  earlier,"  the  young  lady  proceeded.  "  Nice  is  very 


342  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

gay,  but  unless  one  is  careful  it  is  easy  to  be  drawn  into  doubtful 
associations.  There  would  be  more  to  gain  by  being  well  launched 
here.  I  wish  I  had  known — " 

She  paused,  and  her  companion— a  richly  dressed  woman  of 
that  age  which  the  French  call  uncertain,  and  of  whom  it  was 
also  uncertain  how  much  of  her  was  natural  and  how  much  artifi- 
cial, for  she  was  plainly  indebted  to  art  for  her  figure,  her  com- 
plexion, her  hair,  and  her  eyebrows — observed  that  she  had 
always  found  Eome  dull. 

u  All  places  are  dull  when  you  don't  know  people — that  is, 
the  right  kind  of  people,"  answered  the  first  speaker,  who  was 
none  other  than  Miss  Dysart.  "  But  I  have  so  many  English  ac- 
quaintances of  rank  that  I  could  soon  have  made  my  place  good 
in  Anglo-Roman  society." 

"  Then  why  did  you  not  propose  that  we  should  come  ?  "  asked 
the  other,  a  little  sharply. 

Miss  Dysart  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  We  were  very  well 
satisfied  at  Nice,"  she  said. 

"  And  we  should  have  been  satisfied  still,  if  you  had  not  met 
Count  Waldegrave,"  said  her  companion. 

"  I  think  you  liked  him  as  well  as  I  did,  my  dear  Baroness," 
observed  Miss  Dysart,  serenely ;  "  and  thought  him  as  well  worth 
cultivating.  But,  whether  he  will  be  likely  to  notice  us  in  Eome 
because  we  met  him  once  or  twice  in  Nice,  is  a  matter  of  doubt. 
I  am  sure,  from  what  I  have  heard  of  him,  that  he  will  not  step 
out  of  his  way  to  do  so.  But  if  one  meets  him  in  the  society 
where  he  moves — that  will  be  another  thing." 

"  Ah,  but  that  is  the  very  highest,  of  course,"  said  the  Baron- 
ess. " How  do  you  propose  to  enter  it?  " 

"  As  I  have  entered  many  others,"  was  the  reply.  "  "What 
does  one  need  > — a  little  patience,  a  great  deal  of  tact,  and  the 
knowledge  how  to  use  every  advantage.  Those  three  things 
have  given  me  my  success,  and  you  will  admit  that  it  has  been 
great." 

"  But  you  have  not  yet  accomplished  your  end — you  have  not 
yet  married  a  man  of  rank,"  said  the  Baroness,  a  little  maliciously. 
It  is  quite  possible  that  she  wished  her  young  friend  to  under- 
stand that  being  patronized  by  princesses,  and  presented  at  court 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  343 

by  countesses,  and  flirted  with  by  Lords  Blank,  were,  after  all, 
very  empty  distinctions  as  compared  with  being  the  wife  of  a  Ger- 
man baron,  however  objectionable  and  impossible  to  live  with 
that  baron  might  be. 

"Not  yet,"  said  Miss  Dysart,  calmly  ;  "but,  of  course,  I  could 
long  ago  have  married  a  title,  if  I  had  cared  merely  for  that. 
Vauriens,  with  nothing  else  to  offer,  abound  in  Europe,  as  we 
know  well." 

How  the  Baroness  would  have  replied  to  this  barbed  arrow  is 
doubtful;  but,  fortunately,  these  amenities  were  interrupted  by 
the  approach  of  Lionel  Erne,  who,  from  where  he  stood  leaning 
against  a  tree  near  the  music,  had  been  observing  the  occupants 
of  the  carriage  for  some  time  with  an  air  of  amusement.  Now  he 
advanced  to  its  side. 

"  I  am  delighted  to  have  the  pleasure  of  welcoming  you  to 
Borne,  Miss  Dysart,"  he  said. 

Violet  started  at  the  sound  of  the  familiar  voice,  and  turned 
with  a  radiant  smile. 

"  So  it  is  you  !  "  she  cried.  "  How  charmed  I  am  to  find  you 
here!  You  see  I  have  proved  that  'all  roads  lead  to  Borne.' 
Nice  is  growing  dull  and  quite  warm.  Even  Monte  Carlo  began 
to  lose  its  attractions — especially  since  you  did  not  come  to  help 
me  break  the  bank!  " 

"  I  had  no  idea  that  you  were  expecting  me  to  assist  in  that 
very  laudable  undertaking,"  he  replied,  with  a  laugh. 

"  I  told  you  when  we  parted  in  Paris  that  I  should  expect 
you,"  she  said.  "  The  time  has  been  when  you  would  have  re- 
membered such  an  intimation ;  mais  nous  avons  change  tout  cela  ! 
But  I  believe  you  do  not  know  the  Baroness  Bodensteiu. — Bar- 
oness, let  me  introduce  Mr.  Erne." 

The  Baroness  acknowledged  the  introduction  very  graciously. 
She  was  an  American,  who  at  a  period  of  exceedingly  mature 
maidenhood  had  inherited  a  fortune,  come  abroad,  and  captured, 
or,  more  properly  speaking,  been  captured  by,  Baron  Bodenstein 
at  a  German  spa.  Erne's  name  was  familiar  to  her,  and  had  a 
golden  association  which  made  her  bestow  her  best  smile  on  the 
handsome  young  fellow.  But  she  was  not  allowed  opportunity 
for  more  than  this,  since  Violet  went  eagerly  on : 


3i4  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"You  are  not  looking  well — are  you  aware  of  that?  Koman 
air  can  not  agree  with  you.  Now,  if  you  had  come  to  Nice  and 
gone  yachting  with  me  in  Lord  Blank's  charming  Siren,  you  would 
look  very  differently." 

"  It  is  quite  possible  that  under  such  circumstances  I  might 
have  listened  to  the  song  of  another  siren,  and  my  last  state  have 
been  worse  than  my  first,"  he  replied.  "  But  did  Lord  Blank  put 
his  yacht  at  your  disposal  ? " 

"It  amounted  to  that,"  she  said — "did  it  not,  Baroness?  " 

"  Decidedly,"  answered  the  Baroness,  who,  in  the  alliance  offen- 
sive and  defensive  into  which  she  had  entered  with  Miss  Dysart, 
never  failed  to  sound  that  young  lady's  trumpet  as  loudly  as  desired. 
"  Lord  Blank  appeared  to  think  that  bis  yacht  simply  existed  for 
your  service — until  he  went  to  Sicily." 

"  Ah,  one  grows  tired  even  of  a  yacht  after  a  while,"  said  Miss 
Dysart,  with  an  air  which  intimated  that  she  was  to  be  held  account- 
able for  Lord  Blank's  departure  to  Sicily.  "  But  we  will  not  talk 
of  Nice — that  is  over  and  done  with !  I  want  to  talk  of  Rome — 
to  hear  everything  about  everybody.  You  have  been  here  all 
winter,  Mr.  Erne — you  must  know  all  the  social  gossip.  Now  tell 
it  all  to  me.  To  begin  with,  who  is  that  beautiful  woman  in  an 
exquisite  toilet,  whose  carriage  has  just  drawn  tip?  " 

Erne  replied  that  the  person  spoken  of  was  the  Duchessa , 

one  of  the  greatest  ladies  in  Eome.  "  But  you  will  hear  no  gossip 
about  her,"  he  added.  "  She  is  like  untouched  snow — as  pure  as 
she  is  stately." 

"  Then  tell  me  about  some  one  less  perfect  and  more  interest- 
ing," said  Miss  Dysart. 

Erne  laughed  and  obeyed — recounting  many  histories  more  or 
less  edifying  of  the  crowd  which  defiled  in  the  golden  sunshine. 
But  presently  a  carriage  drove  up  from  the  Piazza  del  Popolo  and 
stopped  not  very  far  from  them,  which  at  once  engaged  Miss  Dy- 
sart's  liveliest  attention. 

"  So  there  is  Mrs.  Falconer!  "  she  said.  "  How  very  well  she 
is  looking!  But  who  is  the  young  lady  with  her?  " 

"That,"  answered  Erne,  "is  Miss  Lescar." 

"  Miss  Lescar !  "  repeated  Violet.  Her  eyes  gave  a  great  flash 
of  interest.  "Is  that  the  girl  of  whom  I  heard  in  Paris — whom 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  345 

Mr.  Stanhope  was  interested  in,  and  Mrs.  Falconer  was  to  take 
charge  of — Madame  Lescar's  daughter  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Erne,  with  a  manner  which  in  its  very  quiet- 
ness was  full  of  warning,  "that  is  Madame  Lescar's  daughter — 
and  I  am  sure  you  do  not  need  to  be  reminded  that  Madame 
Lescar  was  one  of  the  noblest  as  well  as  one  of  the  most  unfortu- 
nate of  women." 

"  Oh,  every  one  knows  that,"  was  the  indifferent  reply.  "  We 
are  not  talking  of  Madame  Lescar,  but  of  her  daughter.  She  has 
a  beautiful  face  and  a  very  distinguished  air.  It  is  almost  a  pity — 
under  the  circumstances — that  she  should  be  so  striking.  It  must 
have  required  a  great  deal  of  social  courage  in  Mrs.  Falconer  to 
take  up  a  girl  with  such  a  story  and  such  an  appearance." 

"What  are  you  talking  about,  my  dear  Violet?  "  inquired  the 
Baroness,  who  was  by  this  time  as  curious  as  Erne  was  indignant. 

"Neither  Mrs.  Falconer  nor  her  friends  thought  that  her  con- 
duct required  any  social  courage,"  he  said,  haughtily.  "  No  shadow 
of  the  wrong  done  Madame  Lescar  rested  on  herself  or  her  daugh- 
ter. It  all  fell  on  the  author  of  the  wrong." 

"  Yes,  I  believe  that  was  what  people  thought — in  America," 
said  Miss  Dysart.  "  In  Europe,  however,  the  matter  would  prob- 
ably be  regarded  differently.  But  your  position  is  very  chival- 
rous, and  it  helps  me  to  understand  various  things— why  you 
found  no  attraction  at  Nice,  for  example." 

She  gave  him  a  glance  in  which  the  diablerie  was  tinctured 
unmistakably  with  malice — for  there  is  nothing  which  a  woman 
of  this  order  resents  so  deeply  as  desertion  from  her  standard. 
A  man  may  do  what  he  will,  may  be  what  he  will,  so  long  as  he 
pays  her  vanity  the  tribute  of  superficial  homage  ;  but  when  be 
withdraws  or  transfers  that  homage,  he  may  be  sure  of  evoking 
one  keen  sentiment  at  least — that  of  enmity. 

"  But  you  have  not  yet  told  me  what  you  are  talking  about !  " 
said  the  Baroness,  whose  curiosity  was  given  a  sharper  edge  by 
the  beauty  of  the  person  under  discussion. 

To  this  appeal,  however,  Miss  Dysart  had  at  that  time  no  ear 
to  lend.  She  saw  a  gentleman  approach  Mrs.  Falconer's  carriage 
and  stand  speaking  to  its  occupants.  For  a  moment  she  gazed  in 
speechless  astonishment.  Then  she  turned  to  Lionel  Erne. 


346  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"  Do  you  see  ?  "  she  said.    "  It  is  Count  Waldegrave !  " 

"  What  then  ?  "  he  asked,  quietly.  "  Is  there  any  reason  why 
Count  "Waldegrave  should  not  be  one  of  Mrs.  Falconer's  acquaint- 
ances ? " 

Miss  Dysart  paused  a  moment  before  answering.  She  felt 
from  the  tone  of  his  voice  that  it  was  necessary  to  proceed  cau- 
_tiously. 

"  There  is  certainly  no  reason  why  he  should  not  be  one  of 
Mrs.  Falconer's  acquaintances,"  she  said,  then ;  "  but  you  must 
admit  that  it  is  singular,  to  say  the  least,  that  he  should  be  one 
of  Miss  Lescar's.  May  I  ask  if  he  knows  who  she  is  ?  " 

Erne  frowned.  He  thought  the  question  altogether  imper- 
tinent. 

"  I  have  never  inquired,"  he  answered.  "  But  I  do  not  im- 
agine that  any  one  has  interfered  in  the  matter  sufficiently  to 
inform  him.  He  has  simply  met  Miss  Lescar  as  he  might  meet 
any  other  young  lady  in  society." 

"  Ah !  "  said  Miss  Dysart.  Then  she  turned  to  her  companion. 
"  If  you  wish,  we  will  drive  now,"  she  said. — "  Mr.  Erne,  we  are 
at  the  H6tel  Costanzi,  where  I  hope  we  may  count  upon  seeing 
you." 

Erne  replied  that  he  would  certainly  do  himself  the  honor  of 
calling.  After  which  he  stepped  back  and  the  carriage  drove  on. 

He  stood  quite  still,  looking  after  it  for  a  minute  before  cross- 
ing the  terrace  to  where  Mrs.  Falconer's  carriage  was  drawn  up. 
As  he  approached,  Count  Waldegrave,  with  a  slight  salutation  to 
him,  moved  away. 

"Ah,  Lionel,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  "am  I  to  congratulate  or 
to  condole  with  you?  I  see  that  Violet  Dysart  is  in  Borne." 

"  So  far  as  I  am  personally  concerned,"  he  replied,  "nothing 
could  be  a  matter  of  greater  indifference  to  me  than  Mrs.  Dysart's 
arrival.  But  for — other  reasons,  I  am  sorry  that  she  has  come." 

"  That  sounds  mysterious,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  smiling.  But 
as  she  glanced  at  him  the  gravity  of  his  face  struck  her,  and  she 
said  no  more.  It  was  Irene  who  asked  carelessly  : 

"  And  who  is  Miss  Dysart  ?  " 

"  Since  Lionel  expresses  such  indifference  toward  her,  I  sup- 
pose I  may  answer  frankly,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  She  is  an  ex- 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  347 

ceedingly  pretty  American  girl — well,  something  more  than  a  girl 
now,  though  she  still  looks  very  young— of  good  birth  and  mod- 
erate fortune,  who  unfortunately  conceived  the  desire  to  make  a 
social  success  in  Europe.  In.  a  certain  way  she  has  achieved  it. 
By  dint  of  excessive  tuft-hunting  she  has  made  her  way  into  some 
very  high  circles,  cultivated  a  great  many  distinguished  acquaint- 
ances, and  been  written  up  in  those  odious  publications  called 
1  society  papers '  to  a  great  extent.  But  under  this  apparent  tri- 
umph there  lies  a  real  disappointment,  for  she  has  set  her  heart 
on  marrying  rank,  and  that  is  not  easy — unless  one  possesses  a 
million  or  two,"  said  the  speaker  sarcastically,  "  when  it  becomes 
the  easiest  thing  in  the  world.  Lacking  the  millions,  poor  Violet 
has  been  trifled  with  shamefully  two  or  three  times ;  but  she  goes 
on  dauntlessly  in  her  quest,  making  herself  notorious  all  over  Eu- 
rope, and  wasting  her  youth  in  the  most  pitiable  manner." 

"  Pitiable !  It  is  incredible,"  said  Irene,  "  that  a  woman  can 
degrade  herself  so !  " 

"  She  does  not  think  of  it  as  degradation,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer. 
"  It  is  to  her  a  high  and  noble  ambition." 

"  High,  certainly,"  said  Erne.  "  As  for  its  nobleness — well,  I 
don't  think  Miss  Dysart  troubles  her  head  much  about  that."  He 
paused  a  moment,  then,  looking  at  his  cousin,  added  significantly, 
"  She  is  just  from  Nice,  and  seems  to  know  Count  Waldegrave. 
She  was  very  much  interested  to  observe  him  at  your  car- 
riage." 

"  "Was  she  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  carelessly.  "  It  is  a  pity 
that  her  interest  could  not  have  been  gratified  by  overhearing 
our  conversation,  which  consisted  of  little  besides  an  exchange  of 
salutations.  But  pray  get  in,  Lionel,  and  come  home  with  us. 
We  have  already  taken  our  drive  in  the  Borghese  Garden,  and 
only  came  here  for  a  glimpse  of  the  crowd — which  /like  ;  and  a 
glimpse  of  the  sunset — which  Irene  likes." 

Erne  willingly  obeyed.  He  stepped  into  the  carriage  and  they 
drove  from  the  Pincio. 

Mrs.  Falconer  was  right  in  saying  that  their  conversation  with 
Count  Waldegrave  had  been  little  besides  an  exchange  of  salu- 
tations ;  but  there  may  be  a  difference  even  in  the  manner  of 
saying  good-day.  What  would  decidedly  have  interested  Miss 


348  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

Dysart  was  the  spirit  which,  on  Count  "Waldegrave's  part  at  least, 
animated  the  salutations. 

It  was  a  spirit  which  surprised  himself.  "When  he  went  to 
the  Pincio  that  afternoon  it  was  with  only  one  thought— should 
he  see  the  face  which  during  his  absence  had  never  ceased  to 
haunt  him,  and  which  had  shone  before  him  like  a  star  in  the 
return  to  Rome  ?  Should  he  hear  the  proud,  sweet  voice,  with 
its  undertone  of  pathos,  which  when  he  heard  it  last  had  said : 
"  We  can  never  be  friends — reasons  of  which  you  know  nothing 
forbid  it — but  the  landscape  may  smile  for  you  as  for  others. 
There  is  no  harm  in  that  "  ? 

It  had  seemed  to  him  at  the  time  a  singular  speech,  and,  the 
more  he  reflected  upon  it,  the  more  singular  it  appeared.  Indeed, 
Irene's  manner  toward  him  had  from  the  first  suggested  a  mystery 
which  he  was  quite  unable  to  solve.  It  was  a  distinctly  personal 
aversion  which  he  read  more  than  once  in  the  brilliant  eyes  that 
were  kind  and  friendly  to  every  one  but  himself.  There  had  been 
times,  it  was  true,  when  they  had  changed,  and,  as  they  looked 
at  him  full  of  the  fire  of  a  high  thought  or  the  softness  of  a  sad 
one,  he  thought  that  he  was  to  be  included  in  the  friendliness. 
Bat  the  aversion  had  always  returned— the  glance  grown  cold, 
the  face  haughty.  It  was  something  not  to  be  calculated  upon — 
that  face.  He  found  himself  wondering  with  what  look  it  would 
greet  him  this  afternoon. 

It  was  not  an  ungracious  one,  for  Irene  had  not  forgotten  her 
promise.  Nor  did  it  cost  her  an  effort  to  fulfill  it.  Unconsciously 
to  herself,  something  in  the  character  of  this  man  was  beginning 
to  tell  upon  her.  In  proportion  as  she  knew  him  she  found  the 
individual  taking  the  place  of  the  abstract  representative  of  wrong 
which  he  had  at  first  appeared  to  her.  And  in  the  individual 
there  was  much  that  was  sympathetic  with  her  own  nature — the 
nature  which  in  many  of  its  sterner  traits  was  inherited  from  the 
same  source  as  his  own. 

She  was  not  aware  of  the  reason  of  his  absence — for  no  one 
had  mentioned  Prince  "Waldegrave's  name  in  her  presence — so, 
when  he  observed  that  he  had  been  out  of  Rome  for  ten  days,  she 
said: 

"  Then  you  have  missed  a  great  deal.     It  seemed  as  if  Heaven 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  349 

and  earth  could  not  smile  too  beautifully  on  the  Paschal  sea- 
son." 

"They  smiled  very  beautifully  where  I  have  been,"  he  an- 
swered. "Of  course,  you  know  Nice-sur-Mer  ?  It  is  a  para- 
dise of  loveliness  just  now." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know  it,"  she  replied.  "It  is  like  a  dream — the 
blue  sea,  the  enchanting  heights,  the  wealth  of  flowers.  Yet  the 
thought  of  that  glittering  loveliness  has  no  attraction  for  me — I 
suppose  because  I  am  so  steeped  in  the  influence  of  Eome.  "Were 
you  not  glad  to  come  back  to  the  solemn,  tawny  walls,  to  the 
Campagna  and  the  broken  aqueducts,  even  from  that  paradise  by 


He  smiled.  There  was  something  pleasant  to  him  in  the  frank 
question  and  the  clear  light  in  her  eyes.  They  were  not  unfriendly 
eyes  just  now,  he  thought. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered.  "I  was — lam — glad  to  return.  Eome 
draws  one  with  a  powerful  attraction.  And,  after  all,  the  beauty 
of  the  Kiviera  chiefly  appeals  to  the  pleasure-loving  side  of  one's 
nature ;  while  this  " — he  looked  over  the  great  view  spread  before 
them,  the  many-towered  city,  the  vast  rounded  outline  of  St.  Pe- 
ter's dome,  the  sky  of  splendid  gold,  the  wide  plain  steeped  in 
harmonious  color — "is  not  only  noble  in  itself,  but  suggestive  of 
all  noble  things." 

"Like  the  very  name  of  Eome,"  said  Irene.  "The  proud, 
sonorous  accent  with  which  the  people  say  '  Eoma '  seems  to  ex- 
press everything  that  is  lofty." 

"There  is  much  in  the  ear  of  the  listener,"  said  Count  "Walde- 
grave,  with  a  smile.  "  It  expresses  lofty  thoughts  to  you.  There 
are  others  to  whom  it  expresses  as  little  as — well,  as  Eome  itself 
means  to  them." 

"I  suppose  there  are  numbers  of  such  people,"  said  Irene. 
"But  what  then?  One  need  not  think  of  them — further  than 
to  pity  them  for  the  narrow  limitations  in  which  they  were  in- 
closed." 

"  They  are  sadly  narrow,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  It  is  really 
pitiable  to  observe  what  high  walls  of  ignorance,  prejudice,  and 
that  absurd  mixture  of  vanity  and  selfishness  which  leads  the  typ- 
ical Englishman  and  American  to  conceive  that  whatever  does 


350  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

not  accord  with  his  standard  is,  therefore,  necessarily  wrong,  sur- 
round most  people." 

"  You  think  the  spirit  of  which  you  speak — the  mixture  of 
vanity  and  selfishness — is  stronger  in  Englishmen  and  Americans 
than  in  others  ?  "  asked  Waldegrave. 

"According  to  my  experience,  undoubtedly,"  was  the  reply. 
"  There  are  no  other  people  in  the  world  who  are  so  arrogantly 
possessed  with  the  idea  of  their  own  infallibility,  with  the  desire 
to  measure  everything  in  heaven  or  on  earth  by  their  own  foot- 
rule.  Yet  it  is  simply  the  provincial  spirit  on  a  large  scale.  Some 
of  them  rise  above  it ;  but,  generally  speaking,  it  requires  wide 
culture,  and  half  a  life-time  of  cosmopolitan  experience,  to  enable 
them  to  do  so." 

"And  why  is  it  that  Englishmen  and  Americans  are  peculiarly 
liable  to  this  narrowness  of  vision  ?  " 

"Ask  Mr.  Matthew  Arnold,"  answered  she,  smiling.  "It 
arises  in  great  measure,  I  think,  from  what  he  calls  Philistinism, 
and  what  M.  de  Chateaumesnil  defines  as  materialism.  They  are 
puffed  up  with  the  vanity  of  material  prosperity,  and  the  provin- 
cial character  of  their  surroundings  has  rendered  them  as  ignorant 
as  they  are  vain." 

"  The  terms  are  almost  synonymous,"  said  Waldegrave. 
"Vanity  means  ignorance.  The  first  thing  which  a  man  should 
do  who  desires  to  rid  himself  of  vanity  is  to  go  into  the  world 
and  measure  himself  with  others." 

"  But  few  people  care  to  be  rid  of  such  a  comfortable  thing," 
said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  'Among  the  blind  the  one-eyed  is  king' — 
and  the  one-eyed  is,  therefore,  not  likely  to  seek  voluntarily  the 
society  of  people  with  two  eyes.  Alas  for  poor  human  nature ! 
— the  sense  of  inferiority  generally  makes  us  uncomfortable." 

"  I  suppose  that  is  true,"  said  Irene,  "  but  it  strikes  me  as  very 
strange — for  what  greater  pleasure  is  there  than  heartily  to  feel 
and  acknowledge  superiority,  to  realize  that  there  are  heights  in 
human  nature  above  anything  that  we  dreamed  of,  that  there  is 
wisdom  greater  than  our  own  and  charity  broader?  " 

"  To  realize  high  things,  one  must  have  something  in  one's  self 
which  responds  to  them,"  said  Waldegrave,  wondering  the  while 
what  there  was  in  this  girl's  voice  which  seemed  to  sink  into  his 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  351 

heart,  to  touch  the  most  exquisite  fibers  of  his  being.  To  be  near 
her  was  to  feel  all  that  was  most  poetic  in  him  waked  to  life,  to 
have  a  sense  that  his  nature  answered  to  her  touch  like  a  violin 
to  the  hand  of  a  master.  A  sudden  doubt  assailed  him  as  he  real- 
ized this.  On  what  tide  was  he  drifting  ?  What  was  to  be  the 
end?  He  had  never  before  yielded  to  any  attraction  or  taken  any 
step  without  seeing  clearly  what  the  end  was  to  be.  Now  he  saw 
no  end.  Apart  from  her  proud,  strange  assurance  that  not  even 
friendship  was  possible  between  them,  nothing  was  less  possible 
to  him  than  to  break  through  the  sacred  traditions  of  rank  and 
imperil  the  career  which  his  ambition  now  saw  clear  before  him 
by  marriage  with  a  person  of  no  rank.  He  did  not  for  an  instant 
take  such  a  step  into  consideration.  Noblesse  oblige  to  him  meant 
no  mere  form  of  words,  but  a  real  and  stern  obligation,  which  it 
was  not  possible  even  to  desire  to  throw  aside.  Nevertheless 
this  beautiful  girl,  with  her  exalted  nature  and  her  passionate 
soul,  had  from  the  first  interested — nay,  fascinated  him.  She  had 
never  appeared  to  him  as  to  the  Marquis  de  Chateaumesnil — a 
creature  far 

"...  too  bright  and  good 
For  human  nature's  daily  food." 

On  the  contrary,  he  felt  like  one  confronted  with  forbidden  pos- 
sibilities of  delight.  There  came  to  him  a  conviction  of  what  life 
might  be  with  a  companion  whose  quick  perceptions  and  ardent 
sympathies  would  give  existence  a  meaning  unknown  to  duller 
souls.  It  was  the  first  time  that  his  heart  had  ever  stirred  at  any 
woman's  touch ;  and,  feeling  his  danger,  he  had  resolution  enough 
to  have  forsworn  its  occasion  had  not  those  words  at  the  Lateran 
seemed  to  make  caution  unnecessary. 

Meanwhile,  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  all  of  these  thoughts 
were  occupying  his  mind  at  the  present  moment.  There  was  but 
a  short  pause  after  his  last  words  before  Mrs.  Falconer  said  : 

"  And  are  you,  M.  le  Comte,  one  of  those  whose  interest  in 
Kome  is  restricted  to  the  city  itself,  or  do  you  extend  it  to  the 
surrounding  country  ?  " 

"I  think  I  may  describe  myself  as  one  of  the  latter  class,"  he 
answered,  smiling. 

"  Then  you  will  sympathize  with  Irene  and  myself  in  our  de- 


352  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

sire  to  leave  Rome  for  a  time,  and  wander  among  the  cities  of  the 
Alban  and  Volscian  Hills,"  she  went  on. 

Waldegrave's  face  changed  a  little — a  fact  perceptible  to  the 
lady's  keen  glance. 

"It  is  an  attractive  plan,"  he  said;  "but  why  is  it  necessary 
to  leave  Rome?  Most  persons  make  Rome  the  center  for  all  such 
excursions." 

"  Ah,  but  we  wish  to  go  farther  than  most  persons  do,  though 
just  at  first  we  may  make  the  ordinary  excursions  in  the  ordinary 
way.  A  propos,  Colonel  Bevis  has  arranged  a  party  for  Tivoli, 
which  I  think  he  intends  to  ask  you  to  join — but  probably  you 
have  already  been  there  ? " 

"  I  have  been  there  once  or  twice,  but  it  is  a  place  one  can 
hardly  see  too  often.  I  shall  be  happy  to  join  the  party." 

And  it  was  then  that,  seeing  Erne  approaching,  he  had  bowed 
and  moved  away. 

The  drive  from  the  Pincio  to  Mrs.  Falconer's  portone  was  short, 
and,  when  they  ascended  to  her  apartment,  she  entered  the  salon 
with  Erne,  while  Irene,  saying  that  she  would  put  off  her  wraps, 
went  on  to  her  chamber. 

"Now,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  as  soon  as  she  found  herself  alone 
with  the  young  man,  "tell  me  what  Violet  Dysart  said  about 
Count  Waldegrave.  It  was  something  impertinent,  I  am  sure." 

"She  inquired  if  he  knew  who  Miss  Lescar  is,"  Erne  an- 
swered. 

" So  she  knows?" 

"  What  is  there  belonging  to  social  gossip  which  Violet  Dysart 
does  not  know  ?  It  is  her  one  branch  of  study,  and  she  is  entitled 
to  the  rank  of  savante  in  it." 

"  Has  she  a  personal  acquaintance  with  Count  "Waldegrave  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  inquire — but  it  is  likely.  As  you  observed  in  your 
description  of  her,  she  has  a  great  many  distinguished  acquaint- 
ances, and  it  is  probable  that  she  met  him  in  Nice." 

"  Then  that  settles  the  matter,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  with  en- 
ergy. "  He  must  hear  without  delay,  from  one  who  has  a  right  to 
tell  him,  who  Irene  is.  If  the  disclosure  is  delayed  longer,  he  will 
hear  it  from  Violet  Dysart — with  her  interpretation  of  our  silence.1' 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  353 

"  I  have  always  thought  the  silence  ill-advised,"  said  Erne. 

"Both  Mr.  Stanhope  and  myself  have  thought  the  same,"  said 
his  cousin.  "  But  you  know — or  you  do  not  know — what  Irene 
is!  She  has  a  will  against  which  it  is  difficult  to  stand.  Lately, 
however,  Mr.  Stanhope  has  determined  to  make  the  disclosure  to 
Count  Waldegrave — and  had  he  not  left  Kome  it  would  probably 
have  been  made  before  this.  Then  I  suggested  our  projected  ex- 
cursion to  Tivoli  as  a  good  opportunity  for  it — better  than  for- 
mally seeking  an  interview ;  since,  after  all,  he  may  say,  '  Of  what 
importance  is  it  to  me  ? ' " 

"  I  do  not  think  he  is  in  the  least  likely  to  ask  of  what  impor- 
tance it  is  to  him,"  said  Erne,  gravely.  "  Unless  I  am  much  mis- 
taken, he  will  think  it  of  great  importance."  Then,  after  a  pause, 
he  added :  "  What  I  do  not  understand  is  Tier  position — why  she 
should  object  to  his  knowing  the  truth — what  motive  she  has  in 
the  concealment.  To  my  mind  it  puts  her  in  a  false  and  unworthy 
position." 

"It  does,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  "and  I  blame  myself  very  much 
for  it.  I  weakly  yielded  to  her  wishes  on  this  point  at  first.  As 
for  her  motive — I  doubt  if  she  has  such  a  thing,  beyond  a  pas- 
sionate disinclination  to  his  knowing  the  truth,  the  exact  root  of 
which  it  is  not  easy  to  determine.  But  something  unforeseen  has 
come  to  pass  as  a  consequence,"  the  speaker  added,  with  a  smile. 
"  Whether  she  knows  it  or  not,  she  has  begun  to  like  him." 

"To  like  him!"  repeated  Erne,  in  a  tone  of  consternation. 
"You  do  not  mean — " 

"I  mean  no  more  than  I  say,"  answered  his  cousin.  "But 
that  is  remarkable  enough." 

"It  is  so  remarkable,"  he  said,  after  a  minute,  "that,  if  it  is 
true,  nothing  else  could  surprise  me." 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

THE  morning  on  which  the  party  for  Tivoli  set  out  was  one 
that  promised  a  perfect  day.  Colonel  Bevis  had  insisted  on  an 
early  start,  and  the  aurora  Angehis  was  ringing  as  they  rode 
through  the  quiet  streets,  where  the  shops  were  still  closed,  the 


354:  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

windows  of  the  houses  still  barred.  All  around  them  Koine  lay 
steeped  in  shadow,  while  overhead  the  multitudinous  hells  were 
filling  the  cool,  delicate  air  with  sound,  calling  all  Christian  hearts 
to  praise  God  for  the  great  mystery  of  the  Incarnation :  "  The 
angel  of  the  Lord  declared  unto  Mary — ."  The  joyful  notes  wero 
ringing  it  out  over  the  still  sleeping  city,  to  the  distant  mount- 
ains clad  in  amethyst  and  gold,  to  the  sun  as  he  rose  in  splen- 
dor over  their  purple  crests.  And  from  every  campanile  clouds 
of  birds  flew  out,  rustling  and  twittering,  adding  their  sweet  trib- 
ute to  the  mighty  note  of  praise,  the  early  sunlight  gilding  their 
flashing  wings  and  pouring  in  golden  flood  through  the  arches  of 
the  lofty  towers  from  which  they  came. 

But  it  was  when  the  party  passed  out  of  the  Porta  San  Lo- 
renzo and  saw  around  them  the  wide  Campagna,  before  them  a 
vision  of  enchanted  heights,  and  about  them  a  great  sense  of  pure, 
delightful  freshness,  that  they  fully  faced  the  morning.  It  was 
like  going  into  a  new  world— one  washed  clean  in  God's  bap- 
tismal dew  from  every  stain  of  sin  and  sorrow.  It  was  hard  to 
tell  where  the  earth  ended  and  the  sky  began,  for  the  vast  plain, 
blue  and  undulating  as  the  sea,  melted  into  the  mists  that  were 
rising  from  stream  and  marsh,  and  assuming  a  thousand  beautiful 
opal  tints  as  they  mounted  upward ;  while  the  mountain-range, 
toward  which  the  faces  of  the  travelers  were  set,  was  like  the 
magical  birth-place  of  day — peaks  of  sapphire  and  amethyst  swim- 
ming in  radiant  haze  and  overarched  by  a  sky  out  of  which  the 
marvelous  tints  of  dawn  had  not  yet  faded. 

"It  is  like  a  great  Laudate  Dominum,"  said  Irene. 

M.  de  Chateaumesnil,  who  was  riding  by  her  side,  thought  that 
the  eyes  which  were  glancing  over  the  wide  scene  looked  as  clear 
under  their  dark  lashes  as  if  they  had  been  washed  in  dew. 

"It  is  very  beautiful,"  he  said,  "  and  repays  one  for  the  exer- 
tion of  early  rising.  .It  is  a  pity  that  such  lovely  effects  should 
be  so  evanescent — but  one  ought  to  be  grateful  for  them  never- 
theless." 

"I  can  imagine  nothing  better  worth  gratitude,"  she  said. 
"Look  at  those  tints !  If  one  were  to  try  to  describe  them  now 
— at  this  moment — one  could  not.  There  are  no  words  for  such 
color.  It  is  just  pure  gladness." 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  355 

"  You  make  one  realize  what  possibilities  of  gladness  the  sim- 
ple things  of  life  hold  for  yon,"  he  said,  with  a  slight  strain  of  un- 
conscious envy  in  his  voice — for  what  would  not  the  man  who 
had  so  long  regarded  the  world  with  tired  eyes  have  given  for 
such  freshness  of  emotion  ? 

She  looked  at  him  with  surprise.  "  What  you  call  the  simple 
things  are  after  all  the  best  blessings  of  life,"  she  said.  "And  it 
seems  to  me  that  there  is  enough  here  to  fill  to  overflowing  the 
heart  of  a  poet  or  a  saint." 

"But  how  if  one  has  not  the  heart  of  either  a  poet  or  a 
saint  ? " 

"Oh,  one  must  do  the  best  one  can  with  the  heart  one  has," 
she  said,  with  a  smile.  "  I  did  not  mean  to  imply  that  /  had  the 
heart  of  either." 

"  I  think  you  have  the  heart  of  the  first,"  he  said,  quite  seri- 
ously, "  and  perhaps  of  the  second  also." 

"You  always  say  kind  things  to  me,"  she  answered,  simply; 
"but  that  is  far,  far  too  kind.  Perhaps  I  feel  things  sometimes 
as  a  poet  might— but  there  are  no  words  to  express  how  little  I 
feel  them  as  a  saint."  Then  she  looked  at  the  radiant  hills  which, 
like  heights  of  saintly  perfection,  are  beautiful  to  look  upon,  but 
hard  to  climb.  "  I  knew  what  a  saint  was  once,"  she  said,  as  if 
speaking  to  herself,  "  and  I  am  as  far  from  that  as  earth  is  far 
from  heaven." 

lie  did  not  answer — for  the  shadow  that  crossed  her  face  like 
a  cloud  over  a  landscape,  and  the  note  of  sadness  which  came  into 
her  voice,  told  him  that  he  had  touched  some  painful  chord,  such 
as  he  had  long  been  aware  existed  in  her  experience. 

Meanwhile  the  tints  of  mists  and  hills  and  distance  were  chang- 
ing momently,  and  the  sun  was  sending  long  level  lines  of  gold  over 
the  Campagna,  while  the  air  retained  its  delicious  freshness,  and 
above  the  dewy  sea  of  flowers  which  spread  around  them,  innu- 
merable birds  were  flitting,  twittering  and  singing  in  every  bird- 
tone  possible  to  imagine.  This  road  to  Tivoli — the  ancient  Via 
Tiburtina — is  one  of  the  least  interesting  of  the  Campagna  ways. 
But  no  journey  across  this  wonderful  plain  can  be  uninteresting 
to  those  who  appreciate  the  beauty  of  atmospheric  effects,  the 
magic  of  sunlight  and  shadow,  the  violet  loveliness  of  distant 


356  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

heights  on  which  ancient  towns,  villages,  and  castles  glitter  like 
points  of  light,  and  to  whom  the  silence  which  broods  over  the 
waste  is  more  eloquent  than  a  thousand  voices.  Most  of  the 
party  were  on  horseback,  but  there  was  a  carriage  containing  Lady 
Dorchester — who  at  the  eleventh  hour  decided  to  go— and  Mrs. 
Falconer.  The  latter,  however,  was  in  her  habit,  for  she  intended 
after  a  time  to  take  Irene's  horse,  and  let  her  enter  the  carriage, 
knowing  that  the  ride  of  eighteen  miles  would  be  too  much  for  an 
inexperienced  horsewoman.  But,  guided  by  M.  de  Chateaumes- 
nil's  instruction,  Irene  was  riding  so  well  and  enjoying  it  so  much, 
that  the  miles  went  by  and  Mrs.  Falconer  said  nothing  of  a  change 
until  Stanhope,  who  kept  near  the  carriage,  rode  up  and  sug- 
gested it. 

Mrs.  Falconer  looked  at  him  with  a  smile.  "  I  am  very  com- 
fortable," she  said.  "  To  drive  along  with  this  delightful  air  in 
one's  face  is  so  pleasant  that  I  have  little  inclination  for  a  change 
— and  Ir&ne  is  evidently  not  anxious  for  it." 

"  That  is  not  saying  that  it  would  not  be  well  for  her,"  said 
Stanhope,  looking  with  a  slight,  unconscious  frown  at  Irene  and 
the  Marquis  as  they  rode  on  in  front. 

"M.  de  Chateaumesnil  will  not  allow  her  to  fatigue  herself,  I 
am  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  observing  his  glance  and  the  irrita- 
tion which  it  expressed. 

In  the  presence  of  Lady  Dorchester  it  was  impossible  to  say 
more,  even  if  Stanhope  had  been  inclined  to  do  so,  and  therefore 
he  rode  forward,  and,  when  another  mile  was  passed,  made  his 
suggestion  to  Irene.  The  Marquis  at  once  demurred. 

"Mademoiselle  Lescar  is  not  tired,"  he  said.  "She  could  not 
look  so  bright  or  ride  so  well  if  she  were." 

"  It  would  be  better  not  to  wait  until  she  is  tired,"  said  Stan- 
hope, decidedly. 

Something  in  his  tone  made  Irene  aware  that  he  wished  her 
to  get  into  the  carriage.  She  looked  at  the  Marquis. 

"  Perhaps  it  would  be  better,  as  Mr.  Stanhope  says,  not  to  wait 
until  I  am  tired,"  she  remarked.  "*And  then,  Mrs.  Falconer  may 
wish  to  ride.  I  did  not  think  of  that  before." 

So  the  carriage  was  stopped  and  the  exchange  proposed.  But 
Mrs.  Falconer  shook  her  head. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  357 

"I  feel  very  indolent,"  she  said.  "This  luxurious  motion, 
without  any  exertion,  suits  me  exactly.  And  if  you  are  not  tired, 
my  dear,  why  should  you  dismount  ?  If  you  go  all  the  way  to 
Tivoli  it  does  not  matter. — Only,  M.  le  Marquis,  take  care  that  she 
does  not  fatigue  herself  too  much  to  enjoy  the  day." 

The  Marquis  replied  that  he  would  certainly  take  care  of  this ; 
and,  as  the  carriage  drove  on,  Lady  Dorchester  looked  at  her  com- 
panion with  a  smile. 

"Poor  Mr.  Stanhope  must  feel  baffled,"  she  said.  "Why  did 
you  not  have  more  compassion  on  his  desire  to  deposit  Miss  Lescar 
safely  here  ?  What  is  the  reason  of  his  uneasiness,  hy-the-by  ?  Is 
he  afraid  of  the  fascinations  of  the  Marquis  ?  " 

Mrs.  Falconer  replied  evasively,  for  she  was  herself  not  quite 
sure  of  the  reason  of  Stanhope's  evident  wish  to  separate  Irene 
and  the  Marquis.  No  doubt  he  perceived  what  she  had  detected 
some  time  before — the  interest  of  the  Marquis  in  this  girl,  who 
seemed  formed  by  nature  to  interest  every  one — bnt  whether  he 
feared  the  effect  on  Irene,  or  was  thinking  of  herself,  she  felt  un- 
able to  decide.  "  If  he  is  thinking  of  me,  I  must  let  him  see  that 
his  consideration  is  needless,"  she  thought,  with  an  emotion  of 
haughtiness. 

Mrs.  Bevis,  meanwhile,  who  was  an  admirable  horsewoman, 
was  gayly  trotting  along  between  her  husband  and  Count  Walde- 
grave,  and  she  also  remarked  presently  that  the  Marquis  seemed 
to  have  taken  entire  charge  of  Miss  Lescar's  equestrian  education. 
"  I  thought  she  was  your  pupil,  Henry  ? "  she  said,  with  a  glance 
at  Colonel  Bevis. 

"  Oh,  the  Marquis  is  as  good  a  rider  as  I  am,"  replied  that  gen- 
tleman ;  "  and  I  fancy  his  mode  of  teaching  is  better.  At  least,  I 
observe  that  Miss  Lescar  appears  to  get  on  better  under  his  in- 
struction." 

"  There  might  be  reasons  for  that,  apart  from  the  superiority 
of  the  instruction,"  said  Mrs.  Bevis,  laughing.  "M.  de  Chateau- 
mesnil  has  charming  manners.  I  wonder — "  She  paused. 

"Do  you  wonder  how  far  charming  manners  will  assist  in  giv- 
ing a  good  seat  and  a  good  hand?"  asked  Waldegrave,  with  a 
smile. 

She  shook  her  head.     "  No  ;  I  do  not  wonder  at  all,  for,  ac- 


358  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

cording  to  my  experience,  charming  manners  are  an  assistance  in 
everything.  And  really  " — she  turned  and  glanced  back  critically 
at  Irene — "  Miss  Lescar  is  improving  wonderfully." 

"  There  is  a  talent  for  horsemanship  as  for  everything  else," 
said  Colonel  Bevis.  "  Miss  Lescar  has  the  material  for  a  first-rate 
rider — a  fine  light  hand,  great  quickness  in  learning,  and  any 
amount  of  pluck." 

"  If  one  may  judge  by  her  face,  she  is  absolutely  fearless,"  said 
"Waldegravc. 

"  Is  it  not  a  noble,  spirited  head  ? "  said  Mrs.  Bevis.  "  I  should 
like  to  see  it  on  a  cameo.  A  propos,  I  hear  that  it  has  been  beau- 
tifully modeled  by  that  young  man  whom  we  have  met  once  or 
twice  at  Mrs.  Falconer's,  Henry.  Erie — Erne — is  that  his  name  ? " 

"I  was  not  aware  that  Mr.  Erne  was  a  sculptor,"  said  Walde- 
grave. 

"  Oh,  after  a  fashion— dilettante,  so  I  am  told.  But  Mr.  Ffulkes, 
who  is  an  authority,  speaks  very  highly  of  this  head — which  he 
says  is  as  fine  as  the  Pompeiian  Sappho." 

"The  head,  I  presume — not  the  work,"  said  Colonel  Bevis, 
while  "Waldegrave  drew  his  brows  closer  together  and  looked 
straight  before  him.  He  knew  it  was  no  affair  of  his  if  a  dozen 
sculptors  modeled  IrSne  Lescar's  head,  yet  he  felt  as  if  Erne  had 
been  guilty  of  an  unwarrantable  impertinence,  for  which  he  de- 
served summary  rebuke. 

They  were  now  approaching  the  hills,  and  their  surroundings 
grew  more  interesting.  They  crossed  the  Ponte  Lucano  and 
paused  for  a  few  minutes  at  the  massive  castellated  tomb  of  the 
Plautii,  which,  like  the  mausoleum  of  Hadrian,  has  changed  its 
character  from  a  classic  sepulchre  to  a  mediaeval  fortress.  But 
they  did  not  pause  at  the  Villa  Adriana,  which,  since  the  destroy- 
ing hand  of  Signer  Kosa  has  fallen  upon  it,  as  upon  the  ruins  of 
Rome,  has  lost  the  beauty  and  grace  of  verdure  with  which  Nature 
adorned  it  during  many  successive  centuries,  and  has  become  a 
mere  mass  of  bare  stones,  interesting  only  to  the  antiquary. 

During  their  halt  at  the  tomb,  there  was  a  slight  change  in  the 
order  of  the  party,  and,  when  they  began  the  ascent  of  the  mount- 
ain by  the  beautiful  winding  road  of  Duke  Braschi,  Irene  found 
herself  riding  between  the  Marquis  and  Count  Waldegrave.  At 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  359 

tMs  time,  however,  she  had  little  thought  for  anything  save  the 
beauty  around  them,  which  now  increased  with  every  step.  The 
groves  of  grand  old  olive-trees  through  which  they  were  passing 
— those  groves  of  Tivoli  that  even  from  the  walls  of  Rome  can  be 
seen  clothing  the  mountain-side — were  indescribably  picturesque : 
the  great  gnarled,  twisted,  caverned  trunks,  throwing  out  mighty 
branches,  clothed  in  the  gray-green  foliage,  with  its  silver  lining, 
which  seen  once  can  never  be  forgotten.  "It  is  well,"  says  Rus- 
kin,  "to  have  seen  and  loved  the  olive-tree ;  to  have  loved  it  for 
Christ's  sake,  partly  also  for  the  helmed  Wisdom's  sake,  which 
was  to  the  heathen  in  some  sort  as  that  nobler  Wisdom  which 
stood  at  God's  right  hand  when  He  founded  the  earth  and  estab- 
lished the  heavens  ;  to  have  loved  it  even  to  the  hoary  dimness  of 
its  delicate  foliage,  subdued  and  faint  of  hue,  as  if  the  ashes  of  the 
Gethsemane  agony  had  been  cast  upon  it  for  ever ;  and  to  have 
traced  line  by  line  the  gnarled  writhing  of  its  intricate  branches 
and  the  pointed  petals  of  its  light  and  narrow  leaves,  inlaid  on 
the  beautiful  field  of  the  sky,  and  the  small  rosy-white  stars  of 
its  spring  blossoming,  and  the  beads  of  sable  fruit  scattered  by 
autumn  along  its  topmost  bonghs — the  right,  in  Israel,  of  the 
stranger,  the  fatherless,  and  the  widow — and,  more  than  all,  the 
softness  of  the  mantle,  silver-gray  and  tender  like  the  down  on  a 
bird's  breast,  with  which,  far  away,  it  veils  the  undulations  of 
the  mountains." 

As  they  mounted  in  gradual  and  easy  ascent,  each  turn  in  the 
road  revealed  a  wider  distance,  a  more  striking  picture.  Near  at 
hand  were  steeps  clothed  in  deep-green  foliage,  cliffs  on  which 
convents  and  chapels  hung,  and  masses  of  rock  crowned  with 
flowers;  but  afar,  boundless  in  appearance  as  the  ocean,  the  vast 
Campagna  spread,  while,  lion-like,  Soracte  lifted  itself  out  of  the 
azure  plain,  and  the  Sabine  Hills  bounded  it  with  their  beautiful 
outlines. 

"  What  glorious  distances !  "  said  Irene,  as  they  paused  at  one 
of  the  many  winding  turns  of  the  road  to  look  over  a  world  out- 
spread like  a  scroll.  "And  what  enchanting  pictures  on  every 
side !  Surely  it  was  no  wonder  that  Tivoli — or  Tibur,  as  it  was 
then — should  have  been  the  great  summer  resort  of  noble  Romans 
in  the  days  of  the  empire." 


360  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"Or  that  it  should  have  been  beloved  by  the  poets,"  said 
Waldegrave.  "Horace  has  sung  the  beauty  of  its  thymy  up- 
lands, its  luxuriant  woods,  and  leaping  waters,  in  imperishable 
verse." 

"And  yet,"  said  the  Marquis,  "as  Ampere  remarks, ' Malheu- 
reusement  il  ne  reste  d?  Horace  d  Tivoli  que  les  cascatelles  dont  le 
murmure  semble  un  echo  de  sea  vers.J  " 

"  But  I  can  not  think  it  unfortunate  that  nothing  else  remains 
of  him,"  said  Irene,  as  they  rode  on.  "  "What  are  the  ruins  of  a 
villa  compared  to  poetry  which  seems  to  mingle  itself  for  ever  with 
the  voice  of  the  waters  that  sounded  in  his  ears  ?  " 

"And  therein  lies  the  immortality  of  genius,"  said  Walde- 
grave. "  To  so  paint  in  words  the  beauty  of  earth  and  sky  that 
henceforth  all  that  come  after  shall  see  that  beauty  with  the  poet's 
eyes,  and  so  the  image  of  his  presence  shall  still  move  amid  the 
scenes  he  loved." 

Irene  looked  at  the  speaker  with  a  glance  such  as  from  the 
first  had  passed  between  them — a  glance  of  that  quick  response 
which  makes  the  essence  of  sympathy.  Once  this  response  had 
been  reluctant — but  now  it  was  not  so ;  partly  because  her  feel- 
ing toward  Waldegrave  had  changed,  and  partly  because  she  felt 
as  if  all  painful  things  were  far  from  her  in  this  glorious  upper 
world.  Even  to  breathe  the  air  was  like  drinking  the  wine  of  the 
gods.  She  had  a  sense  of  delight  in  the  wide,  glorious  prospect, 
in  the  exquisite  beauty  of  her  immediate  surroundings,  and  in  the 
thrilling  associations  of  the  spot,  that  was  a  veritable  exaltation. 
For  it  is  in  the  nature  of  great  scenes  to  waken  noble  feeling.  One 
is  ashamed  of  anything  petty  in  the  face  of  a  landscape  which  is 
like  an  embodied  thought  of  God. 

But  now  they  approached  the  gate  of  the  town  by  the  stately 
five-towered  castle  of  Pius  II,  and  entering  passed  along  a  street 
full  of  picturesque  mediaeval  houses,  to  the  point  of  rock  known 
as  Castro  Vetere,  the  citadel  of  ancient  Tibur,  where  stands  the 
beautiful  temple  of  the  Sibyl— familiar,  through  pictures,  to  all 
the  world — with  the  grace  of  its  pure  Greek  architecture  outlined 
against  the  opposite  heights  of  Monte  Peschiavatore,  and  crowning 
the  verge  of  that  deep  chasm  in  the  cleft  mountain  where  the 
Anio  took  its  mighty  leap,  until  diverted  to  another  channel  in 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  361 

order  to  save  the  temple  from  being  eventually  carried  away. 
Farther  beyond  the  headlong  waters  now  pour 

"  In  floods  of  snow-white  foam," 

filling  all  the  air  with  tuneful  thunder  as  they  make  their  plunge 
of  more  than  three  hundred  feet  into  the  green  depths  below. 

Leaving  the  horses  at  an  inn  near  by,  the  party  followed  the 
beautiful  walks  which  by  gradual  descent  lead  into  the  depths  of 
what  Cardinal  "Wiseman calls  "Anio's  urn" — the  abyss  filled  with 
its  resounding  voice,  damp  with  its  constant  spray,  and  rent  and 
riven  into  a  thousand  picturesque  forms  by  its  ceaseless  waters. 
It  is  an  enchanted  spot.  For  here,  in  the  cool,  shadowy  dimness, 
with  the  classic  river  foaming  and  roaring  near  by,  it  is  impos- 
sible not  to  dream  of  all  beautiful  creations  of  the  classic  fancy — 
and  of  the  immortal  figures  of  the  classic  time.  Here  Horace  may 
have  wandered,  murmuring  to  himself: 

"Quara  domus  Albuneae  resonantis, 
Et  prseceps  Anio  ac  Tiburni  lucus,  et  uda 
Mobilibus  pomaria  rivis." 

And  here  is  a  fit  haunt  for  dryads  and  nymphs,  for  fauns  and 
satyrs.  Far  overhead  the  arch  of  an  ancient  bridge  is  seen  through 
the  masses  of  foliage  which  hang  from  the  cliffs,  and  higher  still, 
clear-cut  against  a  sky  of  Italy's  own  blue — that  blue  which  the 
great  painters  borrowed  for  the  mantle  of  the  Mother  of  God — 
stands  in  bold  relief  the  exquisite  temple  of  the  Sibyl  on  its  rocky 
throne. 

"What  taste  they  had,  those  wonderful  ancients!  "  said  Stan- 
hope, as  they  stood  gazing  at  this  beautiful  picture.  "Nothing 
can  be  conceived  more  sublime  than  the  situation  of  that  temple 
— it  is  '  art  crowning  nature  in  perfect  harmony  of  beauties.'  " 

"It  is  almost  too  picturesque  to  be  quite  natural,"  said  Lady 
Dorchester.  "  I  feel  as  if  I  were  looking  at  a  painter's  dream." 

"How  significant  that  feeling  is  of  the  manner  in  which  our 
modern  appreciation  is  trained !  "  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  A  perfect 
harmony  of  art  and  nature  is  to  us  so  strange  that  it  seems  un- 
real. But  to  the  eyes  of  the  ancients  such  harmony  was  as  fa- 
16 


362  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

miliar  as  possible ;  and  the  grace  of  a  beautiful  temple  crowning 
a  height  like  that,  no  more  remarkable  than  the  hideous  erections 
of  the  nineteenth  century  are  to  our  sight." 

"  Happy  ancients !  "  said  Irene,  with  a  soft  sigh. 

"  They  were  certainly  happy  in  their  opportunities  of  culture," 
said  Waldegrave.  "Think  of  a  poet  living  in  this  enchanting 
spot,  while  yonder  lay  imperial  Rome  with  all  her  splendor — the 
center  of  the  world  in  a  sense  never  known  before  or  since." 

"  But  they  were  pagans,  you  know,"  said  Mrs.  Bevis,  in  the 
tone  of  stating  an  undeniable  drawback. 

"  Pagans,  yes,"  said  M.  de  Chateaumesnil.  "  But,  as  pagans, 
more  faithful  to  their  idea  of  religion  than  is  the  modern  world  to 
the  light  of  faith.  We  are  fast  lapsing  back  into  essential  pagan- 
ism, without  the  good  which  leavened  it,  or  the  grace  and  beauty 
which  adorned  it." 

"  It  will  certainly  be  long  hefore  we  erect  such  a  temple  as 
that  to  any  of  our  idols,"  said  Stanhope,  smiling. 

Presently,  having  viewed  the  cascades  and  explored  the  grot- 
toes, they  ascended  again  to  the  upper  world,  and,  after  a  short 
interval  for  rest,  started  on  the  walk  to  the  Quintiliolo.  This  road 
— one  of  the  most  charming  features  of  Tivoli — winds  along  the 
side  of  the  hill,  amid  a  succession  of  constantly  changing  and  ever 
lovely  scenes,  and,  as  it  passes  around  the  valley,  commands  a 
perfect  view  of  the  picturesque  town,  with  its  temples,  ruins,  and 
churches  crowning  the  bold  crest  of  the  opposite  height,  of  the 
splendid  verdure-clad  cliffs,  of  the  Anio  pouring  its  waters  in  foam- 
ing flood  into  the  deep,  green  chasm,  and  of  the  amethystine  dis- 
tances of  the  Campagna — a  vast  world  where  form  is  lost  and  only 
color  remains— spreading  in  misty  beauty  to  the  remote  horizon, 
where  the  tints  of  earth  and  sky  blend,  and  where  one  glittering 
point  alone  breaks  the  level  line — a  solemn  dome  which  tells 
where  Rome  lies  hidden  on  the  wide  expanse. 

"Lady  Dorchester  is  right — it  is  almost  too  lovely  for  reality," 
said  Ir£ne  to  her  companion,  as  they  paused  again  and  yet  again 
by  the  stone  parapet  which  bounds  the  road,  to  look  at  some  scene 
more  enchanting  than  the  last.  "  It  is  like  a  picture — yet  how 
poor  all  pictures  seem  beside  the  work  of  Nature !  " 

Her  companion,  who  was  Count  Waldegrave,  for  a  moment 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  363 

did  not  answer.  They  were  in  the  rear  of  the  party ;  the  others 
had  passed  on,  while  they  lingered,  gazing  down  at  the  slopes  of 
the  mountain  covered  with  olives,  at  the  thickets  of  myrtle  and 
jasmine,  the  banks  of  wild  hyacinths  and  tufts  of  rosemary,  at 
the  waters  of  the  Cascatelle,  foaming,  dancing,  sparkling  through 
a  wealth  of  green  verdure,  at  great  gnarled  trees  carpeted  around 
their  roots  with  violets  and  anemones,  at  glimpses  of  the  parapeted 
road  winding  along  the  hill-side,  at  wayside  fountains  where  peas- 
ant-women stooped  to  fill  the  hrazen  water- jars  which  they  poised 
with  antique  grace  on  their  handsome  heads,  and  at  a  vision  of 
ultramarine  cliffs  and  magic  plain  far,  far  heyond,  while  over  all 
arched  a  dazzling  sky,  and  the  air  was  such  as  might  blow  upon 
the  battlements  of  paradise. 

"  It  is  not  the  first  beautiful  scene  on  which  we  have  looked 
together,"  Waldegrave  said,  at  last;  "and  in  such  a  scene  your 
presence  seems  a  natural  and  fitting  element.  It  has  been  so  to 
me  ever  since  I  saw  you  first,  gazing  out  over  the  Campagna  from 
the  terrace  of  the  Villa  Mattei." 

His  voice  was  quiet  in  the  extreme,  but  underneath  its  quiet- 
ness was  a  tone  that  startled  her.  Involuntarily  she  turned  and 
looked  at  him ;  but  he  was  not  looking  at  her.  He  was  gazing 
afar  toward  Rome,  as,  on  the  day  he  spoke  of,  she  had  gazed  toward 
the  hills  where  they  now  stood  together. 

"  You  would  be  surprised,  perhaps,  to  know  how  much  your 
face  revealed  to  me  that  day,"  he  went  on — still  looking  across 
the  plain  as  if  he  saw  the  ilex  opening  and  St.  Philip's  seat. 
"After  all,  it  is  true — 'we  only  know  those  perfectly  whom  we 
recognize  at  first  sight.' " 

"And  do  you  think  that  you  recognized  me,  that  you  know 
me  perfectly  ?  "  she  asked.  "  If  you  do  think  so,  I  can  only  say 
that  no  man  was  ever  more  mistaken." 

He  looked  at  her  now — meeting  the  sudden  light  that  had 
come  into  her  eyes  with  the  clear  penetration  of  his  glance. 

"Do  I  think  that  I  recognized  you  then,  that  I  know  you 
now  ?  "  he  repeated.  "  Yes — as  far  as  the  real  you  is  concerned. 
By  that  I  mean  your  mind,  your  nature,  your  soul.  I  do  not  pre- 
tend to  know  anything  of  the  circumstances  of  your  life,  or  to 
fathom  the  mystery  which  from  the  first  has  made  you  turn  to  me 


364  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

a  different  face  from  the  face  which  you  show  to  all  the  rest  of 
the  world." 

She  turned  that  face  quickly  away  from  him.  "  Why  do  you 
speak  of  that  here  ? "  she  asked,  in  a  troubled  voice.  "  I  had,  for 
the  time,  almost  forgotten." 

"  But  only  for  the  time,"  he  said.  "  You  would  have  remem- 
bered— the  shadow  would  have  come  into  your  eyes  again,  even 
if  I  had  not  recalled  it.  They  have  been  like  crystal  water  to- 
day. One  could  look  into  their  depths,  and  find  there  only  kind 
and  gentle  thoughts.  But  now — look  at  me  now,  and  let  me  see 
what  I  can  read !  " 

Bis  tone  was  more  of  an  appeal  than  a  challenge ;  but  to  her 
it  was  like  the  last,  and  she  turned  her  glance  to  his  again,  com- 
pelling herself  to  keep  it  steady  for  a  minute. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  speaking  as  if  to  himself,  "  it  has  come  back. 
But,  for  the  first  time,  I  see  something  besides  the  shadow  of  de- 
fiance and  dislike :  I  see  that  you  are  steeling  yourself  with  an 
effort." 

"  Against  you,  perhaps  I  am,"  she  said,  in  a  low  tone.  "  For 
you  have  done  me  no  harm.  I  am  just  enough  to  acknowledge 
that.  But  against  what  you  represent  to  me— it  will  never  re- 
quire an  effort,  Count  Waldegrave,  to  steel  myself  against  that !  " 

There  was  no  effort  certainly  in  the  fire  which  came  into  her 
eyes  at  those  words.  And,  as  he  looked  at  her,  he  did  not  pause 
to  ask  himself  what  end  it  would  serve  to  pluck  the  heart  out 
of  this  mystery.  lie  only  felt  that  he  must  do  so. 

Yet  there  was  no  trace  of  eagerness  in  his  face  or  manner. 
Still  standing  motionless  by  the  parapet,  and  regarding  her  with 
the  same  clear  glance,  he  said  :  "  And  what  do  I  represent  ?  The 
time  has  come  for  me  to  ask  and  for  you — in  justice — to  an- 
swer." 

"And  why  should  I  answer? "  she  returned,  proudly.  "What 
am  I  to  yon,  that  you  should  concern  yourself  with  the  kind  of 
sentiment  I  feel  toward  you — or  the  cause  of  that  sentiment? 
The  east  and  the  west  are  not  farther  apart  than  your  life  and 
mine  have  been  in  the  past  and  will  be  in  the  future.  It  is  a 
mere  freak  of  Fate  that  has  brought  us  together  for  a  little  while. 
I  told  you  once  before  that  we  could  never  be  friends,  but  that  I 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  365 

•was  content  to  treat  you  as  I  would  any  other  indifferent  stranger. 
Have  I  not  kept  my  word  ?  " 

"Yes,"  he  answered;  "but  I  am  not  content  with  that.  I 
wish  to  know — I  will  know — why  to  me,  of  all  men,  the  possibil- 
ity of  your  friendship  is  denied !  " 

The  imperiousness  of  his  tone  was  involuntary,  was  simply 
the  form  that  strong  feeling  took.  But  it  struck  on  Irene's  mood 
like  flint  on  steel,  bringing  out  the  spark  of  anger. 

"You  will  never  know  from  me,"  she  answered,  haughtily, 
"  though,  no  doubt,  there  are  others  who  will  tell  you — if  you 
choose  to  seek  knowledge  from  them." 

There  was  a  pause.  They  looked  at  each  other  steadily  for  a 
moment,  and  what  each  read  in  the  other,  besides  a  strife  of  will 
and  pride,  it  is  difficult  to  say.  Ir£ne  felt  as  if  she  could  not 
withdraw  her  gaze  from  that  which  held  it  and  seemed  searching 
the  depths  of  her  soul.  She  had  no  idea  of  the  measure  of  time, 
before  Waldegrave  said : 

"  I  will  not  seek  to  learn  anything  which  you  do  not  choose 
to  tell  me.  If  you  knew  me  better,  I  should  not  need  to  say 
this." 

Then,  as  she  looked  away  from  him  again,  something  like  a 
rush  of  feeling — was  it  relief  or  pain? — made  the  fair  prospect 
swim  for  a  moment  before  her  eyes.  It  was  at  this  moment  that 
the  first  doubt  of  her  own  wisdom  assailed  her.  Some  words  of 
Stanhope's— harsh  words  they  had  seemed  when  spoken — sounded 
in  her  ears  above  the  fall  of  Anio's  waters.  Was  it,  indeed,  un- 
worthy of  her — the  concealment?  And  the  passionate  desire  to 
return  in  some  sort  the  wrong  that  had  blasted  her  mother's  life 
and  darkened  her  own?  How  was  it  that  now — when  Fate  put 
the  weapon  in  her  hand — she  could  not  use  it  ?  She  had  often 
said  in  bitterness  of  spirit  that  she  was  her  father's  daughter. 
But  the  hour  had  come  for  her  to  feel  that  she  was  her  mother's 
also.  "No  wrong  done  by  another  can  degrade  us,"  the  sweet, 
solemn  voice  seemed  saying  in  her  heart,  "  unless  we  suffer  it  to 
drag  us  down  to  hatred  and  revenge."  She  put  her  hand  to  her 
throat  with  a  sudden  sound  like  a  convulsive  sob,  which  startled 
Waldegrave.  Quite  as  much  the  paleness  of  her  face  startled  him 
when  she  turned  around. 


366  HEAR1    OF  STEEL. 

"Do  you  know  what  it  is,"  she  said,  quickly,  "to  be  rent  in 
two — to  be  drawn  in  opposite  directions  by  opposite  feelings  and 
influences — to  be  neither  wholly  good  enough  to  forgive,  nor 
wholly  bad  enough  to  hate,  yet  to  be  torn  by  the  struggle  and  ex- 
hausted by  the  fight  ?  You  do  not  comprehend ;  and  I  can  not 
tell  you  what  I  mean.  But  those  who  are  wiser  than  I  am  are 
probably  right — it  is  just  that  you  should  know.  Therefore,  do 
not  let  any  thought  of  me  keep  you  from  listening,  if— if  one  who 
has  a  right  to  speak  should  come  to  you." 

The  effort  which  it  cost  her  to  utter  this  was  so  great  that 
it  gave  an  effect  to  the  words,  in  themselves  sufficiently  sur- 
prising, which  startled  Waldegrave,  even  more  than  the  expres- 
sion of  her  face. 

"  But,"  he  said,  moved  out  of  his  usual  calm,  and  taking  a 
step  nearer  to  her,  "  whatever  there  is  to  tell,  why  should  you 
not  tell  it  to  me  yourself — here — now  ?  " 

"It  is  impossible,"  she  answered.  "  An  hour  ago  I  could  not 
have  believed  it  possible  that  I  should  say  as  much  as  this ;  but 
there  is  no  need  that  you  and  I  shall  ever  meet  again :  so  it  does 
not  matter." 

"  No  need  !  " — He  stopped  himself  suddenly.  Surely  there 
was  no  need,  and  surely  also  there  was  that  within  his  heart 
which  made  the  need  imperative  the  other  way — imperative  that 
they  should  not  meet.  For  where  could  this  attraction  possibly 
end  ?  He  was  sufficiently  master  of  himself  to  face  that  question 
and  answer  it.  And  the  answer  left  no  alternative.  In  the  very 
pang  which  stirred  him  at  the  thought  of  separation,  he  recognized 
the  absolute  necessity  for  it.  There  was  no  possible  ground  on 
which  he  could  meet  this  beautiful  stranger — this  girl  without 
any  advantage  of  worldly  position,  of  whose  past  and  whose  cir- 
cumstances he  knew  nothing — without  incurring  danger ;  not,  in- 
deed, to  what  he  held  and  would  hold  sacred  through  any  stress — 
the  obligations  and  duties  of  rank — but  to  his  own  peace  of  mind. 
To  Tiers  he  recognized  that  there  was  no  danger.  The  mysterious 
dislike — which  yet  was  not  entirely  dislike — with  which  she  re- 
garded him,  surrounded  her  like  a  shield. 

"I  do  not  understand  you  in  the  least,"  he  said,  at  length. 
"  But  perhaps  you  will  tell  me  that  does  not  matter." 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  367 

"Do  not  think  me  rude,"  she  answered,  "if  I  say  that  nothing 
could  matter  less.  Now  let  us  walk  on.  I  fear  the  others  must 
wonder  where  we  are." 


CHAPTER  XX. 

MEANWHILE,  another  conversation  was  taking  place  along  this 
beautiful  road  to  the  Quintiliolo.  Mrs.  Falconer,  as  the  party  set 
out,  had,  by  a  slight  gesture,  summoned  Stanhope  to  her  side. 

"I  shall  be  glad  if  you  will  walk  with  me,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
tone;  "  there  is  something  I  wish  to  say  to  you — presently." 

"  You  are  very  kind  to  give  me  the  pleasure  of  being  with 
you,"  he  answered.  "  One  may  be  grateful  for  that  which  one 
could  not  have  ventured  to  ask  for." 

"You  have  suddenly  become  very  modest,"  she  replied.  "I 
can  not  imagine  that  there  is  anything  for  which — if  you  wished 
it — you  would  hesitate  to  ask." 

A  slight — very  slight — significance  in  her  tone  was  not  lost  on. 
his  ear.  But  he  smiled  as  he  said,  "  If  you  really  think  so,  it  only 
proves  that,  even  after  our  long  acquaintance,  you  do  not  know 
me  well." 

"I  may  say  the  same  thing,"  she  rejoined.  "Even  after  our 
long  acquaintance,  I  sometimes  wonder  if  you  know  me  at  all." 

"  What  proof  of  ignorance  have  I  given  ?  "  he  asked,  gravely. 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  glance  which  he  did  not  comprehend. 
"I  will  tell  you  presently,"  she  answered. 

And  presently,  when  they  had  fallen  a  little  apart  from  the 
others,  and  private  conversation  became  possible,  she  opened  the 
subject  in  a  manner  altogether  unexpected  to  him. 

"I  should  like  to  know,"  she  said,  "  why  you  were  so  anxious 
this  morning  that  Irene  should  enter  the  carriage  and  that  I  should 
ride  ? " 

Stanhope,  who  was  not  prepared  for  being  taken  to  task  on 
this  point,  felt  himself  change  countenance — a  fact  sufficiently 
unusual  to  warrant  strong  conclusions  being  drawn  from  it. 

"I  thought  my  reason  was  obvious,"  he  answered,  after  a  per- 
ceptible pause.  "  The  ride  was  too  long  for  her — and,  though  she 


368  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

may  not  have  been  conscious  of  fatigue  at  the  time,  I  am  sure  she 
will  feel  the  effects  severely." 

"That  may  have  heen  one  reason,"  Mrs.  Falconer  replied; 
"  but  you  can  not  affirm  that  it  was  your  only  or  even  your  chief 
one.  And  if  you  do  not  wish  to  tell  me  what  that  reason  was,  I 
can  tell  you.  It  was  because  you  wished  to  separate  her  from  the 
Marquis  de  Chateaumesnil." 

Again  she  looked  at  him,  as  if  defying  him  to  contradict  her ; 
and  he  had  not  one  word  to  say.  So,  after  a  moment,  she  resumed  : 

"  Do  you  call  that  knowing  me,  Mr.  Stanhope  ?  To  think  that 
I  would  care  for  an  allegiance  which  had  wavered  and  needed  to 
be  guarded  from  the  object  that  attracted  it  ?  Have  you  not  done 
me  injustice  enough  in  urging  me  to  barter  my  wealth  for  rank, 
without  doing  me  the  deeper  injustice  of  fancying  that  all  I  cared 
for  was  that  rank,  without  regard  to  the  loyalty  of  the  person  con- 
cerned ? " 

The  proud,  passionate  indignation  of  her  voice  pierced  him 
like  a  sword — as  the  reproach  which  she  uttered  once  before  on 
this  subject  had  done.  He  looked  at  her  with  a  face  pale  from 
feeling,  and  eyes  that  seemed  pleading  against  her  judgment. 

"  Before  I  answer  you  with  regard  to  Irene  and  the  Marquis," 
he  said,  "let  me  reply  to  your  charge  with  regard  to  yourself. 
You  misunderstood  me  in  fancying  that  I  ever  urged  you  to  barter 
your  wealth  for  rank.  I  only  thought  it  best,  from  every  point 
of  view,  that  you  should  make  a  great  marriage — and  I  fancied 
that  you  thought  so  also." 

"  You  had  no  reason  to  imagine  that  I  thought  so,"  she  said, 
with  the  same  quiver  of  indignation  in  her  voice. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  answered.  "  I  had  reason  in  my  knowledge 
of  your  character,  and  in  much  that  has  fallen  from  yourself. 
You  have  not  denied  that,  within  certain  limits,  you  are  an  ambi- 
tious woman.  I  have  never  done  you  the  injustice  to  imagine 
that  you  would  condescend  to  anything  unworthy,  for  an  ambi- 
tious end.  But  there  is  nothing  unworthy  in  making  a  mariage 
de  convenance.  It  is  only  a  question  of  taste  and  of  personal  char- 
acter." 

"I  understand,"  she  said — and  now  it  was  an  edge  of  bitter- 
ness that  her  voice  took — "  you  thought  me  a  woman  without  any 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  369 

of  the  finer  sentiments  which  go  to  make  up  the  highest  type  of 
womanhood ;  one  who,  for  greater  rank,  loftier  social  position, 
was  ready  to  enter  into  a  loveless  marriage.  And  I " — she  paused 
for  an  instant,  and  looked  away  over  the  beautiful  foreground  of 
rocks  and  water  and  green  hill-side  to  the  blue  Campagna  and  the 
distant  solemn  dome — "  well,  I  justified  yonr  opinion  in  thus  far 
that  I  have  hesitated.  I  have  taken  into  consideration  doing 
what  every  one  advised ;  I  have  said  to  myself:  'Why  not?  Love 
failed  me  long  ago,  and  those  who  are  my  friends  think  that  I  can 
do  no  better  with  my  life  than  to  devote  it  to  social  ambition.' 
Yet  something  has  held  me  back.  Perhaps  it  was  the  dread  of 
losing  my  liberty — for  marriage  is  a  bondage  which  only  love  can 
sweeten.  But  now  I  hesitate  no  longer.  Consideration  is  at  an 
end.  To  think  of  marrying  a  man  who  had  worn  out  the  power 
of  keen  feeling,  and  whose  indifference  toward  me  was  only  a 
part  of  his  indifference  to  all  the  world,  was  one  thing ;  but  to 
think  of  marrying  a  man  to  whom  another  woman  is  more  attract- 
ive than  I  am,  is  quite  a  different  thing.  Of  the  last  I  will  never 
think." 

The  flash  of  a  haughty  glance  emphasized  her  words — and 
Stanhope's  heart  leaped  as  it  had  not  leaped  in  many  days  before. 
He  felt  like  one  from  whom  a  weight  was  suddenly  lifted,  before 
whom  a  door  in  a  dark  wall  unexpectedly  opens  with  glimpses  of 
the  fair,  enchanting  world  of  magic  plain  and  radiant  hills.  In- 
voluntarily he  turned  toward  her  eagerly.  "  Do  you  mean,  then, 
that  you  will  not  marry  M.  de  Chateaumesnil  ?"  he  asked. 

"  I  mean  that,"  she  answered,  coldly — for  she  read  his  eager- 
ness as  alarm — "  I  must  forget  my  own  self-respect  before  I  could 
marry  a  man  who  is  in  love  with  some  one  else." 

Then  the  obstinate  sense  of  justice  which  had  before  this  led 
Stanhope  to  speak  in  behalf  ofthe  Marquis,  forced  him  to  say : 

"  There,  I  think,  you  mistake.  I  am  sure  that  he  is  not  in  love 
with  Irene.  She  has  attracted  him  from  his  first  acquaintance 
with  her,  as — to  use  your  own  expression — she  must  attract  every 
one,  and  he  is  interested  and  charmed  by  her ;  but  no  more  than 
that." 

"Everything  is  relative,"  she  answered,  "and  to  be  interested 
and  charmed  is  a  great  deal  for  M.  de  Chateaumesnil.  Certainly 


370  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

he  has  never  professed  to  be  either  the  one  or  the  other,  so  far  as 
I  am  concerned.  But  do  not  imagine,"  she  went  on,  quickly,  as 
she  met  an  anxious  glance  from  Stanhope,  "  that  I  am  angry  or 
piqued.  I  have  known  this  for  some  time  past,  and  it  has  not 
cost  me  a  pang  of  any  kind — not  even  of  mortified  vanity.  You 
are  the  only  person  with  whom  I  have  been  angry.  I  confess  that 
I  felt  very  much  vexed  with  you  this  morning  when  I  saw,  by 
your  persistence  about  the  riding,  that  you  recognized  all  that  I 
did,  and  that,  instead  of  giving  me  the  warning  of  a  friend — in- 
stead of  saying,  '  At  least  I  hold  you  worthy  of  a  better  fate  than 
to  give  your  life  and  all  its  capabilities  to  a  man  who  even  now 
thinks  more  of  another  than  of  you ' — you  were  anxious  that  I 
should  remain  in  ignorance,  and  under  any  circumstances  become 
Marquise  de  Chateaumesnil." 

"  You  are  very  hard  on  me,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone.  "  Do 
yon  not  see  that  I  had  no  right?  And  then,  on  my  honor,  I 
believe  that  you  are  wrong  in  your  inference — I  do  not  believe 
that  the  Marquis  feels  for  Irene  anything  that  merits  serious  con- 
sideration. You  may  credit  my  sincerity  in  this,"  he  added, 
"  since  it  is  no  easy  thing  for  me  to  say.  But  I  should  be  guilty 
of  treachery  to  my  friend  if  I  did  not  say  it." 

"  I  know  that  you  are  exceedingly  loyal  in  your  friendship — 
to  him,"  she  said,  with  a  faint  emphasis  on  the  last  pronoun. 

"  And  you  think  that  I  am  less  loyal  in  my  friendship  to  you  ?  " 
he  asked.  "Well — with  a  slight,  painful  smile — "I  must  submit 
to  that  opinion  as  a  punishment  for  venturing  to  advise— no,  I 
never  advised — for  venturing  to  discuss  your  personal  and  private 
affairs." 

"  Forgive  me,"  she  said,  with  a  sudden  impulse.  "  What  right 
have  I  to  weigh  and  measure,  to  blame  and  reproach  you  ?  I  am 
sure  you  have  meant  to  be  truly  my  friend ;  and  if — if  I  expected 
some  degree  of  comprehension  from  you  which  I  have  not  found, 
it  is  well,  no  doubt,  to  realize  that  perfect  comprehension  is  not 
to  be  hoped  from  any  one  on  earth." 

"If  I  have  failed  in  comprehension,  and  made  mistakes  with 
regard  to  you,"  he  said,  "  it  is  because  I  have  presumptuously  in- 
sisted on  fitting  your  character  to  my  conception  of  it,  instead  of 
being  willing  to  amend  the  conception  by  the  character." 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  371 

"  Perhaps  I  am  to  blame  for  not  having  a  consistent  charac- 
ter," she  said,  with  a  smile.  "But  you  know  I  warned  you  long 
ago  that  it  was  possible  that  even  your  judgment  might  be  mis- 
taken." 

"  I  remember,"  he  said,  "  and  I  can  only  repeat  that  I  am  suf- 
ficiently punished." 

"But  that  I  do  not  wish  you  to  be,"  she  said.  "  Why  should 
I?  There  is  no  harm  done.  And  if  I  have  felt  aggrieved  by 
your  reading  me  in  such  a  light — well,  that  is  over.  After  all, 
what  was  my  anger  but  a  form  of  wounded  self-love?  What  I 
resented  was  that  you  rated  me  lower  than  I  felt  that  I  deserved 
to  be  rated." 

"  For  any  one  to  rate  you  higher  than  I  do,"  he  said,  "  would 
be  impossible,  I  think ;  and  I  can  hardly  make  you  understand  the 
form  of  my  mistake,  which  was  rather  in  holding  you  to  be  fitted 
by  nature  for  a  great  position,  than  in  any  belief  of  your  ambi- 
tious desire  for  it." 

"Let  us  then  say  no  more  about  it,"  she  answered.  "And  I 
assure  you  that,  as  concerns  M.  de  Chateaumesnil,  I  feel  relief 
rather  than  regret.  I  had  bound  myself  to  answer  him,  and  I 
grew  daily  more  uncertain  how  to  answer.  Now  all  uncertainty 
is  ended." 

"And  yet,"  said  Stanhope,  constrained  again  by  stubborn 
honesty  to  speak  against  the  dictates  of  his  own  heart,  "  I  am 
sure  that  you  will  do  him  injustice  if  you  base  your  refusal  on  the 
attraction  he  has  manifested  for  Irene." 

"  I  shall  do  no  injustice,"  she  replied.  "  I  shall  not  act  rashly. 
I  have  not  even  judged  rashly — I  have  observed  M.  de  Chateau- 
mesnil closely  for  some  time,  and  I  believe  I  know  more  of  what 
he  feels  than  he  knows  himself." 

To  this  Stanhope  did  not  answer,  and  they  walked  on  in  silence 
for  several  minutes.  The  soft  air — like  an  elixir  of  life — blew  in 
their  faces,  fresh  with  the  heavenly  fresbness  of  the  great  hills. 
The  deep  ravines  at  their  feet  were  filled  with  silvery  light  as  the 
wind  passed  over  them,  rustling  the  leaves  of  the  olive-woods 
which  clothed  them ;  long  tendrils  of  clematis  and  ivy  were  wav- 
ing from  the  rocks,  up  which  goats  were  scrambling  to  nibble  at 
the  herbage,  and  across  the  gorge  they  caught  the  white  flash  of 


372  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

leaping  waters,  and  saw  the  temple  of  the  Sibyl  clear-cut  against 
the  azure  sky. 

It  was,  as  Ire'ne  and  Waldegrave  were  just  then  agreeing,  an 
ideal  scene ;  but  people  have  not  always  feelings  at  command  to 
accord  with  such  scenes,  and  Stanhope  was  very  much  out  of  ac- 
cord with  it.  There  was  a  tumult  in  his  breast  which  he  was  de- 
termined should  not  find  expression,  and  since  the  danger  of 
silence  was  just  then  greater  than  the  danger  of  speech,  he  soon 
broke  into  the  latter. 

"  I  can  not  avoid  blaming  myself,"  he  said  abruptly,  "for  hav- 
ing introduced  Irene  into  your  life.  She  has  only  proved  an  ele- 
ment of  perplexity  and  trouble." 

"So  far  from  that,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  "  she  has  proved  an 
element  of  pleasure  and  interest.  But  even  if  it  were  other- 
wise," she  added,  with  a  smile,  "you  should  not  blame  yourself, 
for  I  remember  very  well  a  day  when,  as  we  walked  through  the 
park  of  Versailles,  I  told  you  that  I  would  take  charge  of  her. 
You  remonstrated  then,  if  my  memory  serves  me,  and  prophesied 
much  possible  trouble ;  but  I  insisted  upon  carrying  out  my  inten- 
tion, and  I  have  never  for  an  hour  regretted  it." 

"I  remember  that  day  very  well,"  he  said,  looking  at  the 
picturesque  road  as  it  wound  away  before  them,  flecked  with  sun 
and  shadow,  "and  how  you  exulted  in  the  freedom  that  permitted 
you  to  do  what  you  would." 

"And  I  have  nearly  parted  with  it!  "  she  said.  "The  thought 
almost  makes  me  shudder !  Henceforth  suitors  may  come  and  go, 
but  I  shall  hold  fast  to  the  one  great  good  that  I  have." 

"Do  you  then,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's  pause,  "forswear 
all  thought  of  marriage  ?  " 

"  I  can  not  tell  how  my  ambition  will  be  tempted  hereafter," 
she  answered,  a  little  dryly ;  "  but  for  the  present,  certainly  I  wish 
to  hear  no  more  of  it." 

"You  shall  certainly  hear  no  more  of  it  from  me,"  he  said, 
with  a  lightening  of  the  heart,  like  that  of  one  who  sees  a  threat- 
ening evil  removed  from  his  path.  "  We  will  talk  of  Irene.  So 
you  still  think  it  would  be  well  for  me  to  tell  Count  Waldegrave 
to-day  who  she  is  ?  " 

"  That  is  for  you  to  decide,"  she  answered.     "  I  am  only  sure 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  373 

that  he  should  be  told  as  soon  as  possible.  Are  you  aware  that 
Violet  Dysart  is  in  Rome,  and  that  she  not  only  knows  who  Irene 
is,  but  that  she  is  acquainted  with  Count  Waldegrave? " 

"  No,"  he  replied,  "  1  was  not  aware  that  Miss  Dysart  had 
wandered  to  Rome,  nor  that  she  was  acquainted  with  Count 
Waldegrave ;  but  I  was  aware  that  she  knew  all  that  there  is  to 
know  about  Irene." 

"How  did  she  learn  it?-' 

"  You  forget  that  it  is  no  secret.  Madame  Lescar's  story  is  an 
exceedingly  well-known  fact,  and  a  few  years  ago  was  fresh  in 
the  minds  of  most  of  her  country -people.  Of  late  the  deep  se- 
clusion of  her  life  has  caused  many  to  forget;  but  you  can  judge 
how  little  is  needed  to  recall  it  in  all  its  freshness,  by  the  manner 
in  which  you  remembered  it  as  soon  as  I  mentioned  her  name  to 
you." 

"  Bat  I  had  a  peculiar,  almost  a  personal  interest — from  hav- 
ing heard  my  mother  speak  of  her." 

"That  interest  was  slight,"  he  said,  with  a  smile,  "  compared 
to  that  which  gossips  feel.  Quietly  as  Madame  Lescar  lived,  and 
quietly  as  she  died,  she  was  not  suffered  to  rest  in  peace  by  the 
purveyors  of  scandal.  I  never  told  you — it  was  not  worth  a 
thought — that  the  '  Tittle-Tattle '  had  a  long  article  on  her  death ; 
a  garbled  version  of  her  story  in  all  its  details.  Miss  Dysart  sent 
me  the  paper. 

"  The  'Tittle-Tattle  '—oh,  I  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Mrs. 
Falconer.  "  That  odious  paper  which  is  published  in  Paris,  and 
abounds  in  the  most  insolent  personalities.  For  the  matter  of 
that,  all  personalities  are  insolent,  unless  there  is  a  distinct  under- 
standing between  the  editor  and  the  person  desiring  to  be  socially 
advertised.  To  one  who  does  not  desire  it,  nothing  is  more  out- 
raging than  such  a  liberty." 

"  It  is  one  of  the  crying  evils  of  the  day — the  unbridled  license 
of  the  press,"  said  Stanhope ;  "  and  the  violation  of  every  sanc- 
tity of  private  life  must,  in  its  result,  be  demoralizing  in  the  ex- 
treme. You  would  have  been  indignant  if  you  had  seen  the 
article  on  Madame  Lescar — but  '  things  without  remedy  should 
be  without  regard.'  I  put  the  paper  in  the  fire,  and  endeavored 
to  forget  it." 


374:  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"  And  Violet  Dysart  sent  it  to  you  ?  " 

"  Yes.  She  is  of  the  class  who  like  such  information  as  is 
afforded  by  papers  of  the  order  of  the  '  Tittle-Tattle.'  Of  course, 
when  she  heard  of  Miss  Lescar — a  young  girl  who  had  lately  lost 
her  mother,  and  whom  you  had  taken  under  your  protection — 
she  had  no  difficulty  in  putting  two  and  two  together." 

"  And  she  will  not  hesitate  to  enlighten  Count  Waldegrave 
at  the  first  opportunity.  Lionel  Erne  said  that  she  looked  and 
spoke  most  significantly  when,  on  the  Pincio  a  few  days  ago,  she 
saw  him  standing  at  my  carriage." 

"  You  are  sure  that  she  knows  him  ? " 

"  I  am  not  sure,  hut  it  is  probable  that  she  met  him  in  Nice. 
I  should  not  be  surprised  if  he  were  the  magnet  that  has  drawn 
her  to  Rome — poor  Violet !  " 

"  Then  certainly  he  must  be  told  at  once,"  said  Stanhope. 
"This  makes  the  necessity  imperative.  I  shall  either  find  an 
opportunity  to  speak  to  him  to-day,  or — if  opportunity  does  not 
offer — lose  no  time  when  we  return  to  Rome." 

"  I  am  curious  to  know  how  he  will  take  the  revelation,"  said 
Mrs.  Falconer,  after  a  pause.  "  Have  you  observed  that  he  is  like 
one  attracted  against  his  will  by  Irene?  He  does  not  voluntarily 
seek  her;  but  his  eyes  are  not  thoroughly  under  his  control,  and 
they  follow  her  constantly,  with  an  evidently  unwilling  fascina- 
tion. "WTiat  will  he  think,  what  will  he  do,  when  he  hears  who 
she  is? " 

Stanhope  lifted  his  shoulders.  "I  do  not  know,"  he  said. 
"But  of  this  I  am  sure — whatever  Tie  may  do,  she  will  never  will- 
ingly see  him  again." 

The  scattered  party  reunited  on  the  broad  terrace,  where  the 
Church  of  the  Madonna  di  Quintiliolo  stands  on  the  slope  of  Monte 
Peschiavatore,  looking  across  the  valley  at  picturesque  Tivoli,  at 
the  massive  ruins  of  the  villa  of  Maecenas,  at  the  foaming,  spark- 
ling cascades  which  burst  forth  beneath  it  and  contrast  with  the 
rich  tint  of  its  old  masonry  and  the  vivid  green  of  the  surround- 
ing vegetation,  and  at  the  vast  distances  of  the  Campagna  spread- 
ing as  far  as  the  sea,  which  in  clear  weather  can  be  discerned — a 
glimmering  line  on  the  distant  horizon. 

After  remaining  here  for  some  time,  they  followed  a  path 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  375 

•which  winds  in  steep  descent  down  through  magnificent  olive- 
groves — trees  that  look  patriarchal  enough  to  have  sheltered 
Horace—  to  the  Ponte  dell'  Acquaria,  or  "  Bridge  of  the  Golden 
"Water  " — called  thus  from  a  beautiful  spring  which  rises  near  it. 
A  modern  bridge  crosses  the  Anio  here,  bnt  a  fine  single  arch  of 
travertine  is  left  of  the  massive  Roman  bridge,  over  which  tho 
ancient  Via  Tiburtina  passed. 

At  the  spring  they  found  servants  with  hampers  awaiting 
them,  and  Colonel  Bevis  said  he  had  decided  that  this  was  prefer- 
able to  taking  luncheon  at  one  of  the  inns  of  Tivoli.  Every  one 
agreed  with  him,  and  Lady  Dorchester  in  especial  commended 
his  judgment  highly. 

"I  was  just  considering  within  myself,"  she  said,  "how  I 
should  possibly  ascend  that  opposite  height,  where  I  am  told  we 
are  to  go,  without  some  support  for  exhausted  nature." 

"And  I  am  glad  of  an  excuse  to  stay  here  a  little  longer,"  said 
Irene. 

Lady  Dorchester  smiled  as  she  looked  at  the  girl,  who  stood 
by  the  fountain,  the  flickering  shadows  falling  over  her  hare, 
graceful  head — for  she  had  taken  off  her  hat — her  eyes  full  of 
pleasure,  her  slender  form  seen  against  a  background  of  beautiful 
greenery  and  foaming  water  framed  by  the  noble  arch  of  the  an- 
cient bridge. 

"Yon  might  be  taken  for  the  nymph  of  the  spot,"  she  said, 
"  and  nymphs,  I  believe,  require  nothing  besides  mist  to  subsist 
upon.  But  you  must  not  be  surprised  if  the  rest  of  us  need 
something  more  substantial." 

Irene  laughed  as  she  sat  down  on  the  spreading  root  of  a  large 
olive-tree.  "Dear  Lady  Dorchester,"  she  said,  "I  have  not  ex- 
pressed the  least  surprise,  and  no  doubt  I  shall  like  very  well  to 
be  supported  in  that  manner  myself ;  but,  just  now,  I  feel  as  if  it 
were  enough  simply  to  be  in  such  a  beautiful  place." 

"Mademoiselle  Lescar  makes  one  understand,"  said  the  Mar- 
quis, "what  that  love  of  nature  is  which  one  of  the  English  poets 
said  has  '  no  need  of  a  remoter  charm.'  " 

"Am  I  remarkable  in  it?  "  she  asked,  simply.  "  It  seems  to  me 
that  all  people  who  are  capable  of  feeling  at  all,  must  feel  on  this 
subject  alike." 


376  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"No  more  than  we  feel  alike  on  any  other,"  said  Lady  Dor- 
chester. "  You  and  I,  for  instance,  look  on  a  beautiful  scene  with 
wholly  different  eyes.  And  I  confess  that  I  should  like  to  borrow 
yours,"  she  added,  with  another  smile. 

"  We  might  all  be  glad  to  borrow  Miss  Lescar's  eyes,"  said 
Colonel  Bevis,  with  an  air  of  gallantry. 

It  was  a  delightful  hour  which  they  spent  in  this  dell  fit  for 
Egeria — the  beautiful  fountain  sparkling  at  their  feet,  the  Anio 
rushing  by,  the  soft  green  shade  flickering  over  them,  the  great 
hills  rising  above,  while  attentive  servants  placed  delicate  dishes 
before  them,  and  filled  their  glasses  with  the  beaded  foam  of  wine 
as  pure  and  sweet  as  the  water  in  which  it  had  been  cooled — the 
delightful  vintage  in  which  seems  expressed  all  the  mellow  sun- 
shine of  France  and  Italy. 

After  luncheon,  chance  gave  to  Stanhope  the  opportunity  he 
desired  for  speaking  to  Count  Waldegrave.  They  had  roused 
themselves  from  the  pleasant  lassitude  which  follows  such  refresh- 
ment, from  the  talk  that  ranged  lightly  over  many  subjects,  and 
prepared  to  make  the  ascent  of  the  Clivus  Tiburtinus  and  re-enter 
Tivoli.  As  they  started,  Waldegrave  lingered  behind  to  light  a 
cigar,  and,  perceiving  the  opportunity,  Stanhope  fell  back  and 
joined  him — producing  his  own  cigar-case  as  an  excuse. 

"I  perceive,  M.  le  Comte,  that  we  have  a  bond  of  sympathy," 
he  observed. 

"One  very  strong — though  light  as  smoke,"  answered  the 
other,  with  a  smile.  He  had  seen  little  of  Stanhope,  but  was  not 
indisposed  to  like  him.  He  extended  his  box  of  vesuvians,  add- 
ing, "  May  I  offer  yon  a  light  ? " 

"  Thanks,"  said  Stanhope,  accepting  the  courtesy,  though  he 
was  too  confirmed  a  smoker  not  to  be  well  provided  himself.  By 
the  time  he  had  lighted  his  cigar,  however,  he  was  gratified  to 
perceive  that  the  others  were  some  distance  in  advance,  ascending 
the  steep  road. 

But,  now  that  he  found  himself  alone  with  Waldegrave  as  they 
slowly  followed,  the  difficulty  of  saying  what  he  intended  made 
itself  felt.  Without  an  apparent  reason  to  justify  it,  the  revela- 
tion was  likely  to  appear  unnecessary — as  he  had  remarked  to 
Mrs.  Falconer ;  and,  but  for  the  thought  of  Miss  Dysart,  it  is  prob- 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  377 

able  that  he  would  have  allowed  the  opportunity  to  escape  and 
suffered  matters  to  go  on,  trusting  that  no  need  for  disclosure 
would  arise,  or  else  that  the  denoument  would  arrange  itself. 
But  this  being  impossible  under  present  circumstances,  and  feel- 
ing the  need  to  justify  Mrs.  Falconer  even  more  than  himself,  for 
permitting  the  concealment,  he  began  : 

"  Chance  has  befriended  me,  M.  le  Comte,  in  a  desire  which  I 
have  had  for  some  time  to  speak  to  you  in  private.  Indeed,  if  to- 
day's excursion  had  not  accidentally  brought  us  together,  I  should 
have  been  obliged  to  seek  an  interview  with  you  for  the  purpose." 

The  formality  of  this  speech,  and  the  gravity  of  the  speaker's 
tone,  struck  Waldegrave  with  less  surprise  than  either  would  have 
excited  but  for  his  late  conversation  with  Irene — from  the  recol- 
lection of  which  his  consciousness  was  still  vibrating.  He  felt 
instantly  what  these  words  prefaced,  and  he  seemed  to  hear 
Irene's  voice  as  she  said,  "If  any  one  who  has  a  right  to  speak 
comes  to  you,  do  not  let  any  thought  of  me  keep  you  from  listen- 
ing." Plainly  the  time  for  listening — for  hearing  what  was  tho 
mystery  which  had  puzzled  him — was  come.  He  turned  to  Stan- 
hope with  a  face  that  expressed  the  keenest  interest  and  attention. 

"I  shall  be  happy  to  hear  whatever  you  have  to  say,"  he 
answered. 

"There  would  be  no  need  for  me  to  say  anything,"  Stanhope 
replied,  "if  I  had  been  in  Rome  when  you  first  met  Miss  Lescar. 
I  should  have  insisted  upon  informing  you  who  she  is  before  you 
made  her  acquaintance ;  and  in  that  case,  speaking  for  her,  I  am 
sure  that  there  would  have  been  no  acquaintance." 

"Waldegrave  stopped  short  in  the  path  which  they  were  fol- 
lowing, and  almost  unconsciously  confronted  the  speaker. 

"  Why  not  ? "  he  asked,  quickly — almost  haughtily — "  I  have 
known  from  the  first  that  there  was  some  mystery  connected 
with  Miss  Lescar,  but  I  am  unable  to  conceive  how  it  can  affect 
me.  You  say  that  you  would  have  told  me  who  she  is.  Tell  me 
now.  Who  is  she  ?  " 

The  question  was  peremptory ;  the  answer  prompt  and  brief : 

"She  is  your  uncle's  daughter." 

Silence  followed.  For  a  moment  they  stood  facing  each  other 
— Stanhope  reading  the  rapid  changes  in  the  face  before  him — 


378  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

Waldegrave  regarding  him  with  that  mixture  of  surprise,  incre- 
dulity, and  dawning  belief  which  often  characterizes  the  recep- 
tion of  astonishing  news.  At  last  he  said,  in  a  low,  restrained 
voice : 

"  My  uncle's  daughter !     Then  you  mean — " 

"That  she  is  the  child  of  Prince  Waldegrave's  first  marriage — 
with  Miss  Lescar — an  American,"  replied  Stanhope.  "  You  must 
certainly  be  aware  that  there  was  a  marriage." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Waldegrave,  after  a  pause.  "  I  am  aware 
that  my  uncle  made  such  a  marriage,  and  that  it  was  regarded  by 
his  friends  as  a  mistake;  but  it  was  set  aside  before  I  knew 
him,  and  I  have  never  heard  him  allude  to  it." 

"  He  would  hardly  be  likely  to  allude  to  it  if  he  has  the  grace 
of  a  conscience,"  said  Stanhope.  "Nothing  can  be  conceived 
more  shameful  than  the  manner  in  which  his  wife  was  treated. 
I  do  not  apologize  for  such  words,  Count  Waldegrave.  Truth 
needs  no  apology." 

"And  should  not  be  resented,"  said  Count  Waldegrave.  '-I 
am  ignorant  of  anything  beyond  the  barest  facts  of  the  matter. 
During  my  early  youth  I  knew  nothing  of  my  uncle.  He  lived 
at  court  or  on  foreign  missions,  while  I  was  brought  up  on  my 
father's  estate  in  Silesia.  His  first  marriage  had  been  annulled 
before  the  death  of  my  father.  Since  then  he  has  taken  the 
place  of  a  father  in  my  life. " 

"  And  very  naturally  you  are  indisposed  to  judge  him  harshly," 
said  Stanhope.  "  But  it  is  the  test  of  a  just  mind  to  be  able  to 
put  itself  in  the  place  of  another ;  and  if  you  will  put  yourself  in 
the  place  of  Irene  Lescar,  you  may  be  able  to  understand  the  bit- 
terness of  her  resentment  toward  the  man  who  sacrificed  her 
mother  to  his  ambition." 

Waldegrave  was  silent  for  some  time.  Then  he  said:  "I  can 
understand.  I  realize  what  she  must  feel,  and  I  know  now  what 
it  is  that  has  shone  in  her  eyes  when  she  looked  at  me." 

"  Y'ou  have  represented  and  recalled  to  her,  "  said  Stanhope, 
"the  wrong  which  darkened  her  mother's  life  and  threatens  to 
embitter  her  own.  The  mother  bore  her  great  burden  with  a 
nobleness  and  dignity  that  I  have  never  seen  equaled.  It  is  not 
from  her  that  Irene  has  her  fiery  passion  and  unbending  nature. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  3Y9 

Those  traits  are  inherited  from  the  father  she  abhors.  It  was  her 
mother's  greatest  anxiety  in  life  and  last  thought  in  death,  the 
fear  that  this  sense  of  wrong  would  darken  and  overshadow  her 
nature.  Therefore,  of  all  things  to  have  been  avoided  was  any- 
thing which  would  recall  and  intensify  the  sense  of  it.  Her  ac- 
quaintance with  you  has  been  such  a  thing.  It  has  kept  fresh  in 
her  mind  the  passionate  sense  of  outrage,  and  deepened  the  de- 
sire for  revenge,  which  is  a  poison  that  will  destroy  the  noblest 
nature." 

"If  that  is  the  case,"  said  Waldegrave,  "why  was  I  not  told 
at  once  ? " 

"Because,"  answered  Stanhope,  "  Mrs.  Falconer  had  not  suffi- 
cient resolution  to  resist  Irene,  who  vehemently  insisted  that  you 
should  not  be  told.  Had  I  been  here,  I  should  not  have  felt  it 
right  to  regard  her  wishes ;  but,  when  I  arrived,  the  acquaintance 
had  been  made.  I  therefore  waited  to  see  what  would  be  the 
result.  I  hoped  that  it  might  prove  a  mere  passing  contact  of 
strangers ;  but  since  circumstances  have  persistently  continued  to 
throw  you  together,  I  determined  some  time  ago  that  you  should 
hear  the  truth,  notwithstanding  Irene's  opposition." 

"You  told  her,  then,  of  your  intention?  " 

"  Distinctly." 

"  And  may  I  ask — since  you  speak  with  so  much  authority — 
what  your  position  toward  her  is?  " 

"My  position,"  replied  Stanhope,  "is  that  of  her  guardian. 
It  is  a  responsibility  which  I  reluctantly  assumed  at  the  earnest 
request  of  her  mother,  and  which  has  been  greatly  lightened  by 
the  kindness  of  Mrs.  Falconer." 

"  She  is  not  related  to  Mrs.  Falconer,  then  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least.  The  only  tie  is  that  of  hereditary  friend- 
ship." 

They  walked  on  in  silence  for  several  minutes.  "Waldegrave 
was  evidently  thinking  deeply,  and  as  Stanhope  glanced  at  him 
once  or  twice,  he  was  struck  by  the  expression  of  his  face — a 
proud,  resolute  face  seen  thus  in  repose,  but  as  Irene  had  felt 
in  looking  at  it  in  St.  John  Lateran,  not  the  face  of  a  man  who 
could  be  guilty  of  treading  down  weakness  with  power.  They 
were  nearing  the  crest  of  the  hill,  when  he  spoke  abruptly : 


380  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"That  was  true  which  you  said  a  moment  ago — that  it  is  the 
test  of  a  just  mind  to  be  able  to  put  itself  in  the  place  of  an- 
other, and,  I  may  add,  to  look  calmly  at  both  sides  of  a  question 
or  a  fact.  I  should  like  to  hear  the  story  of  my  uncle's  marriage 
as  his  daughter  has  heard  it.  Will  you  tell  it  to  me  ?  " 

"Willingly,"  answered  Stanhope.  "But  to  tell  it  thoroughly 
and  in  detail  would  be  too  long  for  this  time  and  place." 

"  As  we  return  to  Kome  it  may  be  possible  to  make  an  oppor- 
tunity. If  not,  I  shall  be  happy  to  see  you  at  my  apartment. 
And  now,  one  other  favor.  Do  not  suffer  Miss  Lescar  to  know  or 
suspect  that  you  have  spoken  to  me  on  this  subject.  Let  her 
enjoy  the  remainder  of  the  day  without  a  shadow." 

Stanhope  was  pleased  by  the  consideration  evinced  in  this 
request. 

"  She  shall  certainly  not  know  or  suspect  from  me,"  he  said, 
"  for  it  would  make  your  presence  very  painful  to  her.  But  I 
warn  you  that  her  eyes  are  keen.  Beware  of  betraying  it  your- 
self." 

Waldegrave  smiled  slightly.  "  I  rarely  betray  what  I  wish  to 
conceal,"  he  said.  "Moreover,  I  shall  not  trust  myself  near  her." 

Then  they  entered  the  mediaeval  battlemented  gate,  through 
which  the  rest  of  the  party  had  preceded  them,  into  the  narrow 
streets  of  the  town,  which  still  bears  as  its  motto  the  proud 
name  bestowed  on  it  by  Virgil,  Superbitm  Tibur. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

NOTHING  can  be  conceived  finer  than  the  descent  of  the  mount- 
ain from  Tivoli.  The  whole  azure  scroll  df  the  Campagna  then 
unrolls  before  the  gaze,  from  the  base  of  the  hill  to  the  distant 
Mediterranean,  and  from  the  fairy  Sabines  to  the  Pontine  Marshes 
— an  expanse  absolutely  unmatched  in  all  the  world  for  beauty 
and  historic  glory.  On  all  the  near  hill-sides  convents,  villas,  and 
villages  gleam  above  the  olive-groves  that  surround  them,  and  in 
the  midst  of  the  great  plain  lies  Eome — a  vision  of  a  city  sur- 
mounted by  the  soaring  dome  which  distance  is  unable  to  oblit- 
erate. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  381 

It  seemed  to  IrSne  like  a  beautiful  dream  of  a  world  at  peace 
with  heaven,  as,  leaning  back  beside  Lady  Dorchester  in  the  lux- 
urious open  carriage,  they  were  driven  rapidly  down  the  winding 
road — a  fresh,  soft  wind  blowing  in  their  faces,  at  their  feet  the 
magical  plain  steeped  in  light  and  color,  and  before  them  a  radiant 
sky,  where  mountains,  cities,  peaks,  and  infinite  distances  of  cloud, 
were  kindled  into  ineffable  glory  by  the  last  rays  of  the  sinking 
sun — while  from  every  cliff  and  valley  came  the  sweet  sound  of 
the  Angelus  bell,  mingling  with,  the  tints  of  earth  and  heaven  that 
make  twilight  so  divine  in  Italy. 

"Waldegrave  had  kept  his  word.  No  shadow  of  the  knowledge 
given  to  him  had  fallen  on  her  to  mar  her  enjoyment  of  the  day. 
When  they  wandered  through  the  wild,  beautiful  garden  of  the 
Villa  d'Este,  he  had  carefully  avoided  approaching  her  ;  though, 
as  Mrs.  Falconer  had  remarked,  his  eyes  were  less  under  his  con- 
trol than  his  movements,  and  they  followed  the  graceful  figure  as 
it  passed  down  the  long  alleys  shaded  by  gigantic  cypress  and 
ilex  trees,  as  it  paused  by  fountains  that  flung  their  flashing  spray 
against  a  background  of  deepest  green,  and  fell  with  musical  mur- 
mur into  colossal  basins  fringed  with  ferns  and  mosses,  or  when 
it  stood  framed  by  that  archway  at  the  end  of  the  great  terrace, 
of  which  it  has  been  well  said,  that  "none  but  the  most  consum- 
mate artist  would  have  placed  it  where  it  stands,  in  glorious  relief 
against  the  soft  distances  of  the  many-hued  Campagna."  It  is 
impossible  to  imagine  any  presence  more  fitted  to  such  scenes 
than  that  of  Irene,  with  her  noble  bearing  and  classic  grace;  and 
as  Waldegrave  watched  her  he  felt  like  one  before  whom  obsta- 
cles vanished — and  who  had  but  to  put  forth  his  hand  with  one 
supreme  effort,  and  seize  that  which  had  become  to  him  of  chief 
value  in  the  world. 

This  feeling  was  still  with  him  as  he  rode  down  the  mountain 
in  the  sunset  that  was  enchanting  earth  and  sky.  A  few  hours 
before  he  had  thought  that  only  separation  was  possible  between 
himself  and  Ir^ne.  Now  a  sense  of  elation  filled  his  veins  like 
wine.  She  had  been  brought  near  to  him  in  a  manner  that  seemed 
as  wonderful  as  it  was  unexpected,  which  stirred  all  the  chivalry 
of  his  nature  in  her  behalf.  It  was  like  a  marvelous  fate— like  a 
page  of  romance— that  this  girl,  toward  whom  he  had  been  so 


382  EEAET  OF  STEEL. 

strongly  attracted  from  the  first,  and  whom  he  had  loved  despite 
all  the  prejudices  that  had  been  arrayed  against  her,  should  prove 
to  be  of  his  own  race  and  lineage,  born  while  her  mother  bore  his 
uncle's  name  in  the  face  of  the  world !  He  went  back  in  memory 
over  all  his  meetings  with  her — recalling  every  look,  every  tone, 
every  word,  in  the  light  of  this  new  knowledge,  and  comprehend- 
ing all  that  had  been  dark  and  puzzling — until  his  heart  melted 
•with  an  intense  pity  for  the  sadness  that  had  fallen  so  early  on 
an  innocent  head.  He  tried  then  to  remember  all  that  he  had 
heard  of  his  uncle's  first  marriage.  Certainly  it  had  been  annulled 
on  the  ground  of  a  mere  legal  informality — that  he  knew  ;  and, 
for  the  first  time,  a  sense  of  the  cruel  injustice  involved  in  this, 
occurred  forcibly  to  him.  It  may  safely  be  said  that  he  had  never 
before  given  a  thought  to  the  probable  feelings  of  the  woman 
whom  Prince  Waldegrave  had  swept  out  of  the  path  of  his  ambi- 
tion. The  marriage  had  been  a  mistake  which  had  been  remedied 
— that  was  all.  How  sharp  the  remedy  had  proved  to  her  whom 
it  crushed,  he  had  not  considered  until  now,  when  it  came  to  him 
with  a  penetrating  sense  of  possible  wrong,  making  a  darker  stain 
on  noble  honor  than  any  mesalliance  could. 

"But  if  there  has  been  wrong,  it  shall  be  mine  to  atone,"  he 
said  to  himself,  with  a  passionate  pleasure  in  the  thought  that  it 
would  be  his  to  banish  for  ever  the  shadow  he  had  seen  so  often 
in  the  beautiful  eyes,  to  give  back  to  the  daughter  all  that  the 
mother  had  lost.  His  heart  stirred  as  he  felt  how  much  he  had 
already  gained — much  which  he  only  realized  now  that  he  knew 
what  forces  had  been  arrayed  against  him — and  with  the  hope  of 
all  that  he  would  yet  win.  It  was  not  strange  that  he  did  not 
think  of  failure.  A  man  who  has  never  failed  in  his  life  can 
hardly  be  expected  to  conceive  that  even  a  woman's  heart  is  be- 
yond his  reach. 

Altogether  it  was  a  magical  hour.  He  had  dropped  behind 
the  others,  and  only  the  regular  tramp  of  his  horse's  feet  broke 
the  stillness,  except  when  he  met  a  group  of  peasants  returning 
from  their  work  in  the  vineyards  below,  and  received  their  gra- 
cious "  Felicmima  notte,  signor."  He  echoed  the  salutation  to 
himself,  "  Felicusima  !  "  Yes,  surely  it  was  that— this  the  fair, 
coming  night,  which  brought  within  his  reach  the  happiness  that 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  383 

when  the  sun  rose  had  seemed  absolutely  unattainable  save  at  a 
price  he  could  not  pay.  All  the  poetry  which  formed  the  ideal 
element  of  his  nature  seemed  to  waken,  and  passion — the  stronger 
for  its  late  restraint — leaped  all  barriers.  They  were  dreams  as 
exquisite  as  the  "  cloud-capped  towers  and  gorgeous  palaces  "  of 
the  heaven  before  him,  which  filled  his  mind  and  heart  as  he  rode 
down  the  beautiful  hill-side  of  Tivoli. 

The  Anio,  running  swift  as  an  arrow,  was  still  full  of  lovely 
reflections  from  the  sky  when  he  crossed  the  Ponte  Lucano  and 
on  the  farther  side  overtook  Stanhope,  who  had  fallen  behind  the 
others  to  wait  for  him.  After  a  word  or  two,  they  rode  on  in 
silence  for  some  time— both  feeling  the  spell  of  the  charmed  twi- 
light, and  loath  to  break  it  by  conversation.  But  several  things 
still  remained  to  be  said,  and,  conscious  that  it  would  be  difficult 
to  find  a  better  opportunity  than  this,  Waldegrave  presently  spoke : 

"  Will  you  now,  Mr.  Stanhope,  fulfill  your  promise  to  tell  me 
the  story  of  my  uncle's  marriage,  as  his  daughter  has  heard  it  ? 
I  have  been  endeavoring  to  recall  all  that  I  ever  heard  regarding 
it — but  that  is  very  little." 

So  Stanhope  began  the  story  that  to  its  principal  actor  proved 
so  sad  a  tragedy.  In  its  details  it  was  entirely  new  to  Walde- 
grave, and,  being  related  simply  and  strongly,  every  word  told 
with  the  effect  that  only  truth  possesses.  When  it  was  ended,  he 
remained  silent  for  some  time.  Then  he  said  in  a  meditative 
tone: 

"  If  the  mother  was  formed  in  such  a  mold  as  the  daughter, 
the  blow  must  have  been  terrible  indeed  to  her !  " 

"The  mother  was  all  and  more  than  all  that  the  daughter  is," 
said  Stanhope.  "  All  the  exquisite  sensitiveness  and  delicate 
pride  which  you  see  in  Irene  was  manifest  in  her.  The  blow 
was  so  terrible  that  but  for  her  child  I  am  sure  that  it  would  have 
killed  her  at  once.  I  believe  that  it  did  kill  her  at  last." 

Again  Waldegrave  was  silent  for  a  moment  or  two  before  he 
said :  "  I  do  not  doubt,  from  what  you  have  told  me — which  is 
corroborated  by  my  own  knowledge — that  she  suffered  a  very 
cruel  wrong,  and  that  her  daughter  has  just  cause  for  resentment. 
What  I  desire  to  do,  therefore,  is  to  repair  the  wrong— as  far  as 
possible." 


384  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"  But  bow  is  it  possible  ? "  asked  Stanhope,  with  surprise. 
"  Madame  Lesear  has  gone  before  '  a  Judge  whom  no  king  can  cor- 
rupt.' Nothing  can  efface  the  wrong  done  to  her,  or  remove  its 
memory  from  her  daughter's  mind,  its  consequences  from  her 
daughter's  life." 

"Nothing,  certainly,  can  now  efface  the  wrong  done  to  Ma- 
dame Lesear,"  said  Waldegrave.  "But  it  is  possible  to  remove 
the  consequences  from  her  daughter's  life.  There  is  not,  in  jus- 
tice, any  stain  whatever  upon  her  birth ;  and — especially  now 
that  her  mother  is  dead — there  is  no  reason  why  Prince  Walde- 
grave should  not  acknowledge  her  as  his  daughter  in  the  face  of 
the  world." 

Stanhope  smiled — a  little  sarcastically.  "You  have  not 
studied  Irene's  character  to  much  purpose,"  he  said,  "if  you 
fancy  she  would  accept  that  or  any  other  amende  which  Prince 
"Waldegrave  could  offer.  She  is  the  passionate  champion  of  her 
mother's  wrong,  and  she  would  rather  live  under  the  stigma 
which  injustice  has  placed  upon  her,  than  to  take  rank  and  wealth 
from  the  man  who  inflicted  that  wrong." 

"From  my  knowledge  of  her  I  can  imagine  it  possible,"  said 
"Waldegrave.  "But  there  is  another  way  of  repairing  the  injus- 
tice, to  which  no  such  objection  could  be  made.  She  can  allow 
me  to  give  her  exactly  the  position  which  her  mother  lost." 

Dusk  had  deepened  around  them  by  this  time,  but  there  was 
still  light  enough  to  enable  them  to  see  each  other's  faces,  and 
Stanhope  looked  with  an  expression  of  astonishment  at  his  com- 
panion. 

"  If  I  understand  you,"  he  said  at  length,  "  you  mean  that 
you  wish  to  marry  her  ? " 

"  I  mean  that,"  "Waldegrave  answered.  "  And,  since  you  are 
her  guardian,  it  is  proper  that  you  should  hear  it  at  once." 

There  was  a  short  silence.     Then  Stanhope  said : 

"  Have  you  considered  the  obstacles  in  your  way?" 

"  There  are  no  obstacles  in  my  way  except  her  own  bitter  feel- 
ing," the  young  Count  answered,  "  and  that  I  hope  to  overcome. 
I  shall  pay  my  uncle  the  respect  of  acquainting  him  at  once  with 
what  I  intend  to  do— and  I  shall  be  glad  if  he  gives  me  his 
approval.  If  he  does  not  approve,  however,  I  shall  feel  only  the 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  385 

more  bound,  as  the  representative  of  our  house  in  my  generation, 
to  do  all  that  I  can  to  atone  for  what  I  regard  as  a  stain  on  its 
honor." 

44  That  is  nobly  said,  and  still  more  nobly  felt,"  said  Stanhope, 
in  a  voice  that  showed  how  his  quick  sympathies  were  roused. 
"  I  am  glad  that  Irene  has  found  such  a  kinsman  and  champion. 
But  I  think  you  have  little  idea  of  what  you  will  undertake  in 
offering  yourself  as  her  suitor.  I  should  like  to  believe  that  you 
will  succeed ;  but  I  must  speak  honestly — and  there  is  nothing 
which  seems  to  me  less  possible  than  that  she  will  ever  volun- 
tarily take  the  name  of  which  her  mother  and  herself  were 
robbed." 

"  But,"  said  Waldegrave,  "  if  she  is  reasonable — and  I  think 
she  is — she  will  feel  that  it  is  unjust  to  visit  an  offense  on  the 
head  of  one  who  was  not  in  the  remotest  degree  accountable  for 
it ;  and,  I  may  add,  that  it  is  ungenerous  not  to  permit  one  who 
has  wronged  her  to  make  any  reparation  in  his  power."  He 
paused  a  moment,  and  his  voice  changed  as  he  went  on :  "  There 
is  something  else  to  be  considered.  I  should  not  think  of  offer- 
ing my  name  to  a  woman  whom  I  did  not  love.  I  have  struggled 
against  the  attraction  which  she  has  had  for  me  ever  since  I  saw 
her  first— for  nothing  would  induce  me  to  marry  beneath  my 
rank.  Only  to-day  I  determined  not  to  see  her  again.  I  had  no 
fear  of  yielding;  but  there  is  folly  in  subjecting  one's  self  to 
unnecessary  pain.  Judge,  then,  what  your  revelation  has  been 
to  me !  It  has  brought  near  what  before  was  beyond  the  pale 
of  possibility,  and  it  has  given  love  the  form  of  duty.  I  have 
not  only  to  win  the  woman  who  has  stirred  my  heart  to  its 
depths,  but  to  lift  from  her  the  shadow  of  wrong,  and  from  my 
name  the  stain  of  an  unjust  action.  Do  you  think,  then,  that  I 
am  likely  to  fail  ?  " 

There  was  no  earnest  of  failure  in  the  proud  and  ardent  reso- 
lution which  filled  the  tone  of  this  question.  It  was  that  of  one 
who  felt  within  himself  the  power  to  overcome  any  obstacle,  to 
break  down  any  barrier.  But  Stanhope,  who  knew  better  than 
he  what  barrier  was  before  him,  said  after  a  moment : 

"  You  will,  I  fear,  regard  me  as  a  prophet  of  evil,  but  I  am 
constrained  to  answer  that,  judging  from  my  knowledge  of  Irene, 
17 


386  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

I  do  think  you  more  likely  to  fail  than  to  succeed.  I  believe  that 
so  deeply  is  the  memory  and  the  resentment  of  her  mother's  wrong 
impressed  on  her  nature,  that  if  you  could  win  her  heart  it  would 
only  be  to  inaugurate  a  worse  struggle  with  herself  than  any  she 
has  known  yet,  and  the  end  of  which  would  be  that  she  would 
suffer  anything  rather  than  forget  that  wrong  in  the  manner  you 
propose." 

"  But  that  would  be  a  very  blindness  of  hato — and  a  folly  of 
which  I  believe  her  incapable,"  said  "Waldegrave. 

"  I  hope  that  you  may  prove  right,"  said  Stanhope.  "  At  least 
my  conscience  is  clear ;  I  have  warned  you." 

"And  I  am  grateful  for  your  warning,"  said  the  other — 
"  though  I  should  feel  myself  a  craven  if  I  heeded  it.  Indeed, 
you  have  added  another  motive  to  those  which  I  have  already 
mentioned — the  motive  of  securing  the  triumph  of  her  better 
nature,  of  casting  out  hatred  by  love." 

"  It  would  be  impossible  to  have  a  better  end,"  said  Stanhope, 
earnestly.  "I  wish  you  success  with  all  my  heart!  " 

They  rode  on  in  silence  for  some  time.  Stars  were  shining 
above  them  now  ;  around,  the  wide,  vague,  shadowy  plain  spread 
like  a  world  of  infinite  space.  The  charm  of  the  soft,  mystical 
night  seemed  to  touch  them  sensibly,  like  a  caress  of  nature.  In 
the  stillness  they  heard  the  sound  of  running  water,  and  the  wild, 
sweet  odors  that  haunt  a  stream  came  to  their  nostrils.  Presently 
they  began  to  speak  of  indifferent  things  ;  but  conversation  was 
fitful  and  without  interest  on  either  side.  They  lapsed  again  into 
silence,  and  it  was  not  until  the  great  shadow  of  the  basilica  of 
San  Lorenzo  told  them  that  the  walls  of  Rome  were  near  at  hand, 
that  Waldegravo  spoke  again  on  the  subject  which  filled  the 
thoughts  of  both. 

"  I  shall  start  to-morrow  for  Nice,  to  see  my  uncle,"  he  said. 
"  I  shall  remain  there  a  day  or  two.  Then  I  shall  return  to  Rome. 
May  I  beg  you  to  be  kind  enough  to  refrain  from  telling  Miss 
Lescar  of  our  conversation  until  I  return?" 

"  Certainly,"  answered  Stanhope,  with  an  alacrity  which  sug- 
gested that  he  was  glad  of  an  excuse  to  defer  an  evil  hour. 

"I  shall  communicate  with  you  as  soon  as  I  return,"  Walde- 
grave  went  on.  "  My  resolution  can  not  be  changed  in  the  faint- 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  387 

est  degree ;  but  I  shall  be  glad  if  my  uncle  takes  the  view  of  the 
matter  that  I  take." 

"That  is  hardly  to  be  expected,"  said  Stanhope.  "I  only 
hope  that  your  resolution  may  not  lead  to  a  rupture  between 
yourself  and  him." 

"  If  it  does,"  said  the  young  man,  "  I  shall  have  the  consola- 
tion of  feeling  that  it  is  I  who  am  supporting  the  honor  of  our 
name." 


PAKT    III. 


CHAPTER  I. 

NEAR  where  Nice  lies,  with  its  white  houses  fringing  the  fair 
Mediterranean  shore,  the  liquid  sapphire  of  the  sea  in  front,  and 
hehind  range  upon  range  of  hills  gray-green  with  olive-woods, 
ahove  which  rise  the  jagged,  glittering  peaks  of  snow-clad  Alps, 
the  villa  in  which  Prince  Waldegrave  had  established  himself  is 
situated. 

Its  gates  open  on  the  road  which  winds  from  Nice  toward 
that  famous  headland  where  the  "  lone-dwelling  Heracles "  of 
the  old  Hellenic  colonists  has  left  his  name  to  the  Portus  Her- 
culis  Monoeci — the  little  modern  principality  of  Monaco— and 
thence,  climbing  the  rocky  ledges  of  the  Turbia,  follows  the  curv- 
ing shore  as  it  stretches  away  in  many  a  bold  cliff  and  fairy  bay 
to  where  Genoa  sits  enthroned  with  her  marble  palaces.  Behind 
the  villa,  gardens  of  great  extent  and  beauty  cover  a  promontory 
that  juts  upon  the  sea — a  paradise  of  loveliness,  with  avenues  of 
dark-green  foliage,  at  the  end  of  which,  seen  through  arched 
openings,  the  blue  waves  sparkle  and  dance,  where  great  stone- 
pines  lift  their  heads  into  the  upper  air,  where  against  the  trop- 
ical green  of  palms  the  tremulous  gold  of  the  mimosa  shows,  with 
the  pink-white  of  flowering  almond  and  the  blossoming  fire  of 
scarlet  camellias,  where  oranges  gleam  "like  gold  in  leafy  gloom," 
where  Judas-trees  drop  their  purple  blossoms,  and  where  roses, 
heliotrope,  and  oleander  fill  the  air  with  fragrance,  which  seems 
to  mingle  with  the  soft  pervading  murmur  of  the  sea. 

Knowing  that  his  uncle  had  a  great  aversion  to  being  taken 
by  surprise,  Waldegrave  had  telegraphed  on  leaving  Eome  ;  and, 
when  he  reached  the  small  station  near  the  villa,  he  found  Prince 
Waldegrave's  admirably  appointed  carriage  and  richly  liveried  ser- 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  389 

vants  awaiting  him.  There  was  only  a  short  stretch  of  road  from 
the  station  to  the  gates  of  the  villa,  then  a  winding  drive  under 
orange  and  mimosa  trees  led  to  the  door,  where  other  servants 
were  in  attendance.  As  Waldegrave  entered  the  superb  hall  with 
its  statues  on  pedestals  and  Oriental  carpets  strewed  over  the  mar- 
hie  pavement,  a  suave  major-domo  advanced  and  informed  him 
that  u  his  Excellency  "  would  be  happy  to  see  him  in  his  private 
apartments  after  dinner. 

"  His  Excellency  dines  alone  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  His  Excellency  has  been  very  unwell  for  several  days,"  the 
major-domo  replied,  "  and  by  order  of  his  physician  dines  early. 
Madame  la  Princesse,  however,  dines  at  the  usual  hour,  and  will 
expect  M.  le  Cointe." 

M.  le  Comte  was  then  conducted  to  his  apartments,  where,  in 
the  interval  before  dinner,  he  had  time  to  realize,  more  clearly 
than  he  had  yet  done,  all  that  awaited  him  in  the  interview 
with  his  uncle.  What  he  felt  was  not  fear  in  the  ordinary  sense 
— nor  as  ordinary  people  would  have  felt  it  in  bearding  such  a 
lion  as  Prince  Waldegrave — so  much  as  that  shrinking  from  giv- 
ing pain  which  a  fine  nature  must  always  feel,  and  which  in  his 
case  was  intensified  by  the  necessity  to  sit  in  judgment  on  the 
conduct  of  one  who  had  been  as  a  father  to  him.  For  a  moment 
he  wished  that  he  had  made  his  communication  in  writing ;  but 
he  rejected  the  thought  almost  instantly.  No  :  whatever  was  to 
be  said  should  be  said  face  to  face ;  and,  if  the  end  was  a  rupture 
of  the  affection  of  years,  it  should  at  least  not  be  from  any  fault 
of  word  or  manner  on  his  part. 

Fortified  by  this  resolution,  he  went  down,  as  the  dinner-hour 
drew  near,  and  found  Princess  Waldegrave  in  one  of  the  salons 
that  opened  into  each  other  in  a  long  suite.  She  was  a  handsome, 
inanimate  woman,  who  roused  herself,  however,  to  express  pleas- 
ure at  his  arrival. 

"  For  we  have  been  dull  since  the  last  attack  of  the  Prince,1' 
she  said.  "  I  have  been  out  very  little,  and  have  invited  no  one 
here." 

"  I  hope  the  attack  was  not  serious,"  said  Waldegrave. 

"  Not  very  serious,  though  at  one  time  the  physicians  expressed 
some  anxiety,"  replied  the  Princess.  "  We  thought  of  telegraph- 


390  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

ing  to  you,  but  it  appeared  there  was  no  need  ;  and  then  a  day  or 
so  later  your  telegram  arrived,  which  made  your  uncle  suspect 
that  you  had  been  summoned." 

"  I  shall  disabuse  his  mind  of  that  suspicion,"  said  Waldegrave, 
smiling.  "  I  have  come  on  a  matter  of  special  importance,  and 
my  resolution  to  leave  Kome  was  taken  so  suddenly  that  I  had 
not  time  to  write." 

"  I  supposed  that  it  was  some  political  affair,"  said  the  Prin- 
cess, indifferently — she  was  one  of  the  women  to  whom  politics 
represent  all  that  is  least  interesting  in  life — "  but  the  physicians 
greatly  disapprove  of  Prince  Waldegrave's  devoting  so  much  time 
to  his  correspondence,"  she  went  on.  "  They  say  that  he  over- 
works his  brain,  and  I  really  think  it  would  be  well  if  you  remon- 
strated. Your  influence  is  greater  with  him  than  that  of  any  one 
else." 

"  I  do  not  think  that  any  one  can  be  said  to  have  any  '  influ- 
ence' with  him,"  replied  Waldegrave.  "  He  has  always  a  reason 
for  what  he  does — he  has  always  deliberately  weighed  and  ac- 
cepted consequences— and  therefore  to  remonstrate  with  him  is 
useless." 

The  speaker's  words  had  peculiar  meaning  to  himself  as  he 
uttered  them,  for  he  could  not  help  thinking  how  little  it  was 
likely  that  his  wishes  would  affect  the  strong,  proud  nature  that 
he  knew  so  well,  in  the  matter  now  near  his  heart. 

Dinner  was  then  announced,  and  during  the  course  of  it  Prin- 
cess Waldegrave  talked  entirely  of  social  gossip,  for  which  Nice 
near  by  afforded  an  admirable  field,  and  with  which  she  seemed 
thoroughly  conversant,  notwithstanding  the  seclusion  of  which 
she  complained.  When  she  finally  rose  to  leave  the  room,  Walde- 
grave excused  himself  from  joining  her  in  the  drawing-room,  since 
his  uncle  had  desired  to  see  him  ;  and,  left  alone,  devoted  a  few 
minutes  to  collecting  his  thoughts  and  nerving  himself  for  the 
coming  interview. 

Prince  Waldegrave's  apartments  were  on  the  other  side  of  the 
house,  and,  having  summoned  the  groom  of  the  chambers,  and 
learned  that  he  was  ready  to  receive  him,  Waldegrave  went  down 
a  long  corridor  covered  with  thick  carpet,  upon  which  not  a  foot- 
fall was  audible,  to  the  cabinet  de  travail,  where  he  found  his 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  391 

uncle  slowly  pacing  up  and  down  the  floor,  while  a  secretary  sat 
writing  at  a  desk  in  one  corner. 

It  is  difficult  to  imagine  a  more  striking  presence  than  that  on 
which  the  tempered  lamp-light  fell — a  tall  figure,  appearing  taller 
even  than  it  was,  hy  reason  of  superb  proportions  and  stately 
bearing  ;  a  noble  head,  crowned  by  close-clipped  gray  curls  ;  and 
a  face  which  expressed  that  blending  of  intellectual  and  moral 
force  which  forms  the  ideal  combination  for  a  ruler.  The  brow 
was  more  wide  and  compact  than  high,  with  the  broad  base  of 
brain  so  essential  for  intellect,  making  the  setting  of  the  eyes  very 
deep,  from  which  they  looked  out  clear  as  crystal  and  penetrating 
as  Damascus  steel.  The  nose  was  large  and  well  formed,  the 
inouth  finely  cut  and  resolute  in  the  extreme— an  expression 
deepened  by  the  shape  of  the  square,  massive  jaw  ;  altogether 
a  face  in  which  there  was  not  one  weak  line — the  face  of  a 
man  whose  enemies  might  well  fear,  whose  adherents  well  trust 
in  him. 

But  what  was  it  that  Waldegrave  for  the  first  time  saw  in  this 
face  ?  With  the  quickness  of  lightning  it  came  to  him  as  he  en- 
tered the  room,  and  his  uncle  paused,  confronting  him.  It  was 
the  likeness  to  another  face— in  which  a  vague  resemblance  had 
often  haunted  him — a  face  where  this  brow  was  to  be  seen  copied 
in  miniature,  and  from  which  the  same  clear,  dauntless  eyes  looked 
out.  "  How  could  I  have  been  so  blind  as  not  to  have  seen  it  be- 
fore ? "  he  thought,  while  Prince  Waldegrave  held  out  his  hand, 
saying : 

"  This  is  an  unexpected  pleasure,  Otto.". 

"  It  was  wholly  unexpected  to  me,"  the  young  man  answered. 
u  But  it  is  a  greater  pleasure,  inasmuch  as  the  Princess  tells  me 
that  I  am  to  congratulate  you  on  recovering  from  an  attack  of 
illness." 

"  Oh,  a  slight  attack,"  said  the  Prince — who,  having  lived  for 
years  as  if  his  muscles  were  leather  and  his  nerves  steel,  now 
cbafed  under  the  restrictions  and  imputation  of  illness.  "  It  was 
not  serious.  I  hope  that — despite  my  orders  to  the  contrary — you 
were  not  summoned  on  that  account." 

"  Certainly  not,"  answered  Waldegrave.  "  I  had  not  heard  of 
your  illness  until  I  reached  here  a  few  hours  ago.  I  am  truly  glad 


392  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

to  see  that  the  attack  was  not  serious.  But  the  Princess  tells  me 
that  the  physicians  remonstrate  against  the  labor  to  which  you 
still  subject  your  brain." 

"  Pooh ! — a  little  correspondence." 

Waldegrave  elevated  his  eyebrows  as  he  glanced  toward  the 
desk  where  the  secretary  sat,  with  its  piles  of  official-looking 
documents  and  sheafs  of  letters. 

"  I  have  been  in  public  life  some  time,"  he  said,  "  and  I  confess 
that  is  hardly  my  idea  of  '  a  little  correspondence.' " 

Prince  Waldegrave  smiled,  but  frowned  slightly  also. 

"  No  matter,"  he  said.  "  If  I  am  to  die  I  shall  die  in  harness. 
The  Princess  is  very  kind,  but  do  not  let  her  persuade  you  to 
come  to  me  with  the  'remonstrances'  of  physicians — who  know 
no  more  of  the  importance  and  exigence  of  the  affairs  which  de- 
mand my  attention  than  they  do  of  the  laws  governing  the  stellar 
system.  However,  I  was  just  about  to  dismiss  my  secretary  for 
the  evening  when  you  came  in,  and  1  shall  now  do  so,  which  I 
hope  will  satisfy  you  that  I  am  not  killing  myself." 

He  turned  away  as  he  spoke,  and  Waldegrave,  watching  the 
stately  figure,  thought  that  by  the  vigor  and  decision  of  its  move- 
ments there  was  not  much  ground  for  fear.  The  secretary  was 
dismissed  with  a  few  brief  directions,  and  then  the  Prince  re- 
turned. 

"  Now  tell  me,"  he  said,  as  Waldegrave  and  himself  sat  down 
in  front  of  a  window  which  opened  on  the  garden,  and  through 
which  came  the  odor  of  flowers  with  the  soft,  incessant  murmur 
of  the  sea,  "  what  has -brought  you  ?  " 

Certainly  a  leading  question  this — and  certainly,  also,  one 
which  Waldegrave,  despite  all  his  preparation,  felt  himself  for  a 
moment  unable  to  answer.  His  silence  and  hesitation  were  so  re- 
markable, that  his  uncle  gave  a  quick  glance  of  surprised  interro- 
gation. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? "  he  asked.  "  Surely  no  serious  com- 
plication has  arisen  at  Rome  ?  " 

"  None,"  answered  Waldegrave.  "  None  is  likely  to  arise  with 
the  government,  which,  like  Mohammed's  coffin,  hangs  between 
heaven  and  earth,  without  support  in  either.  A  kingdom  created 
by  revolution,  and  menaced  by  the  forces  which  created  it,  is 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  393 

scarcely  likely  to  be  offensive.  As  for  the  Vatican,  no  influence 
of  diplomacy  nor  force  of  arms  can  change  the  tranquil  non  pos- 
simus  of  his  Holiness." 

The  Prince  frowned.  Undeterred  by  the  example  of  many  be- 
fore him,  he  had  made  that  vain  trial  of  strength  with  the  Rock 
of  Peter,  which,  since  the  days  of  Nero,  has  only  ended  in  one 
way.  Like  another  famous  diplomatist,  he  had  declared  that  he 
would  never  go  to  Canossa ;  and,  like  that  same  diplomatist,  he 
was  now  generally  supposed  to  be  on  his  road  thither — finding 
even  his  iron  will  met  by  that  calm  resistance  which  offers  its 
neck  to  the  sword,  but  will  not  in  one  jot  or  one  tittle  yield  the 
sacred  rights  committed  to  its  care — and  feeling  it  absolutely 
necessary,  in  the  face  of  the  growing  power  of  socialism,  to  con- 
ciliate the  outraged  Catholic  subjects  of  his  sovereign. 

"  What  then  ?  "  he  said,  rather  impatiently.  "  You  are  not 
given  to  caprice — you  would  not  have  come  without  a  reason — 
and  I  am  not  fond  of  mystery,  you  know." 

"I  have  not  come  without  a  reason,"  replied  Waldegrave; 
"  and  I  have  no  desire  to  make  a  mystery  of  it.  I  am  at  last 
thinking  of  marriage." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  the  Prince,  warmly.  "  It  is  a 
subject  which  I  have  not  urged  upon  your  consideration,  because 
I  knew  that  in  time  you  would  think  of  it ;  and  it  is  better  to  de- 
fer marriage  too  late  than  to  make  it  too  early.  Moreover,  I  have 
great  confidence  in  your  judgment.  I  have  always  felt  sure  that 
your  choice,  whenever  it  was  made,  would  be  a  wise  one." 

"  I  think  that  it  is  a  wise  one,"  said  "Waldegrave,  "  but  whether 
you  will  agree  with  me  or  not  is,  I  fear,  doubtful." 

"  What !  "  said  the  Prince,  sharply,  "  do  you  mean  to  tell  me 
that,  after  all  my  confidence,  you — of  all  men — are  thinking  of 
any  marriage  in  which  there  can  be  a  doubt  of  its  wisdom  ? " 

"  Before  I  answer,"  said  Waldegrave,  calmly,  "  let  me  ask  how 
you  would  define  a  wise  marriage  ?  " 

"  There  is  but  one  way  in  which  a  sensible  man  can  define  it," 
was  the  reply.  "  A  wise  marriage  is  one  which  strengthens  a 
man's  hands  in  the  battle  of  life — which  brings  him  wealth,  influ- 
ence, and  strong  alliance.  Such  a  marriage  I  have  never  doubted 
that  you  would  make." 


394;  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"  But,  in  the  first  place,"  said  Waldegrave,  "  I  do  not  recognize 
in  my  case  the  need  to  seek  those  things.  The  great  prestige  of 
your  fame  is  more  than  any  of  them ;  and  starting  in  life  with 
that  advantage,  I  feel  within  myself  the  power  to  achieve  all  that  I 
desire.  I  have  no  need  to  strengthen  my  hands  by  strong  alliance." 

"Every  man  in  public  life  has  need  of  it,"  said  his  uncle, 
"  though  you  certainly  less  than  most.  But,  with  the  ambition 
which  I  know  you  to  possess,  I  did  not  think  that  you  would 
neglect  any  means  that  would  help  you  to  set  your  foot  on  the 
neck  of  Fortune." 

"  I  shall  set  it  there,"  said  Waldegrave,  quietly,  "  without  such 
help.  And  now  let  me  tell  you  what  /  hold  to  be  a  wise  mar- 
riage. It  is  one  that  will  indeed  strengthen  a  man's  hands  for  the 
battle  of  life,  but  in  a  different  manner  from  that  you  recom- 
mend ;  for,  while  wealth  is  a  good  thing,  strong  alliance  another 
good  thing,  and  rank  the  best — indeed,  I  should  not  think  of  mar- 
rying any  one  of  low  rank—" 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  that,"  said  the  Prince,  parenthetically. 

"Nevertheless,  there  are  things  for  the  absence  of  which 
neither  wealth,  rank,  nor  alliance  could  compensate.  A  wise 
marriage  is  that  which  gives  to  a  man  a  companion  of  whose 
sympathy  and  comprehension  he  is  sure  —  one  with  intellect 
enough  to  understand  his  thoughts,  and  who  by  understanding 
helps  him  to  embody  them;  with  a  nature  that  responds  to  every 
feeling,  and  with  whom  existence,  therefore,  could  never  become 
dull.  Such  a  companion  would  make  for  one's  life  a  citadel  of 
peace,  would  give  wings  to  ambition,  which  might  else  crawl  upon 
the  earth,  would  quicken  all  one's  powers,  and  would  double  the 
sweetness  of  any  success,  as  she  would  take  the  sting  from  any 
failure." 

Waldegrave  had  almost  forgotten  to  whom  he  was  speaking, 
as  his  own  words  conjured  before  him  the  vision  that  for  many 
days  now  had  been  present  with  him.  He  looked  out  over  the 
garden,  while  his  face  assumed  an  expression  which  his  uncle  had 
never  seen  it  wear  before — the  expression  of  one  who  had  entered 
into  the  charmed  citadel  of  which  he  spoke — and,  after  regarding 
him  for  a  moment  with  astonishment,  Prince  Waldegrave  shrugged 
his  shoulders. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  395 

"  When  you  talk  in  that  strain,  Otto,  I  have  nothing  to  remark 
except  that  it  is  something  I  never  expected  to  hear  from  you," 
he  said.  "  I  hoped  that  the  passion  which  makes  fools  of  men 
would  not  find  a  victim  in  you.  But  I  perceive  that  I  flattered 
myself  with  a  vain  hope.  The  hour  of  folly  has  come  to  you,  as  I 
suppose  it  comes  to  all.  It  is  some  consolation,  however,  that  you 
have  not  quite  lost  your  senses.  Under  all  this  talk  of  sympathy 
and  comprehension  and  unrealizable  ideals,  I  gather  that  at  least 
you  are  not  thinking  of  marrying  any  one  beneath  yon  in  rank." 

"  The  person  of  whom  I  am  thinking  is  in  point  of  rank  alto- 
gether my  equal,"  said  Waldegrave. 

"  In  that  case  it  is  necessary  to  make  the  best  of  the  matter. 
Who  is  she  ?  " 

It  was  exactly  the  question  which  Waldegrave  himself  had 
turned  to  Stanhope  and  asked  on  the  hill  of  Tivoli.  The  recol- 
lection of  that  moment,  and  of  his  own  sensations,  made  him  hesi- 
tate again.  He  feared  the  effect  upon  his  uncle  more  than  he 
feared  anything  which  the  latter  was  likely  to  say  or  do.  But 
hesitation  was  something  which  Prince  Waldegrave  did  not  tol- 
erate. With  another  of  the  quick  glances  that  seemed  able  to 
pierce  any  reserve,  he  repeated  the  question  : 

"  Who  is  she  ? "  Then,  after  an  instant,  he  added,  "  Not  a 
foreigner,  I  hope  ? " 

"  She  is  not  exactly  a  foreigner,"  answered  Waldegrave ;  "  but 
her  birth,  and  her  life  have  been  at  variance.  She  was  born  to 
high  rank,  which  she  lost — at  least,  she  lost  all  the  advantages  of 
it — through  no  fault  of  her  own,  very  early  in  life.  She  has, 
therefore,  never  lived  in  her  native  country,  and  she  is  alienated 
from  it  in  affection.  But  an  act  of  simple  justice  may  restore  to 
her  what  she  has  lost,  and  she  is  fitted  by  nature  and  education  to 
adorn  the  highest  position." 

"  Are  you  describing  the  daughter  of  an  exiled  royal  house  ? " 
asked  his  uncle,  with  a  slight  smile.  "  I  have  said  before  that  I  do 
not  like  mysteries.  What  is  the  name  of  this  princess  ?  " 

Then  Waldegrave  could  hesitate  no  longer. 
"  She  is  called,"  he  said,  "  Miss  Lescar.    She  is  indeed  an  exiled 
princess  ;  but,  instead  of  being  the  daughter  of  a  royal  house,  she 
is  your  daughter." 


396  HEART  OF  STEEL. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  pause  which  followed  those  words  may  not  have  been 
very  long  in  reality,  but  it  seemed  of  immense  length  to  Walde- 
grave.  He  almost  felt  as  if  his  heart  ceased  heating  as  he  waited 
for  his  uncle's  reply.  The  awe  with  which  Prince  Waldegrave 
.inspired  every  one  else  was  now  felt  by  him  for  the  first  time ; 
yet  it  was  not  so  much  awe  as  anxiety — as  doubt  how  he  would 
receive  the  intelligence,  and  fear  for  its  possible  effect  upon  him. 
The  suspense  was  keen ;  yet,  when  the  Prince  spoke,  his  tone  and 
manner  were  altogether  different  from  any  "Waldegrave  had  ex- 
pected. 

"  How  do  you  know  this  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  low  tone. 

As  Waldegrave,  with  a  sense  of  relief,  turned  his  glance  toward 
him,  be  was  struck  by  the  change  tbat  had  come  over  his  face. 
It  was  that  of  a  man  before  whom  suddenly  a  ghost  had  risen— 
the  ghost  of  dead  youth  and  dead  love  and  possible  self-reproach 
— at  which  he  looked  with  grave  sorrow.  The  clear  eyes  were 
penetrating  as  ever,  but  there  was  nothing  of  anger  in  them  as  he 
met  his  nephew's  gaze. 

"I  know  it,"  Waldegrave  replied,  in  the  same  tone,  "  from  the 
statement  of  her  guardian — a  statement  made  reluctantly,  and 
against  her  desire — and  easily  substantiated  by  proof,  which  he 
spoke  of  possessing ;  but  for  which  I  did  not  ask,  since  my  only 
surprise  on  learning  the  fact  was  that  I  had  not  suspected  it  be- 
fore." 

"  Her  guardian ! "  repeated  the  Prince,  with  a  sharp  accent. 
"  Where,  then,  is — her  mother  ? " 

Waldegrave  looked  away.  He  had  no  desire  to  see  the  effect 
of  his  reply. 

"  Her  mother,"  he  answered,  "  is  dead.  She  died  last  year,  in 
Paris." 

Silence  again — and  this  time  a  silence  in  which,  besides  the 
murmur  of  starlit  waves,  and  the  soft  rustle  of  leaves,  Waldegrave 
seemed  to  hear  the  voice  of  accusing  memory  which  might 
speak  to  a  heart  long  hardened  against  it.  He  was  not  surprised 
when,  after  a  moment,  his  uncle  rose  from  his  chair  and  walked 
away. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  397 

It  seemed  to  him  that  many  minutes  passed  while  he  looked 
out  into  the  flower-laden  gloom,  and  heard  behind  him  the  tread 
of  a  foot  which  passed  several  times  across  the  room  before  Prince 
Waldegrave  spoke.  Presently,  without  his  steps  pausing,  he 
said: 

"And  how  long  have  you  known — this  girl  ?  " 

"Waldegrave  had  to  wait  an  instant  to  collect  his  thoughts  be- 
fore he  could  answer  the  question.  He  had  absolutely  forgotten 
how  long  he  had  known  Irene.  It  appeared  to  him  an  indefinite 
length  of  time.  But,  after  a  brief  effort  of  recollection,  he  an- 
swered: 

"I  have  known  her  for  a  month  or  two  as  Miss  Lescar.  But 
only  for  a  day  or  two  as— what  she  is." 

"  Her  birth,  then,  is  not  generally  known  ?  " 

"NotinEome — where  she  has  excited  much  attention  this 
winter,  from  her  beauty  and  her  many  gifts." 

"  How  did  you  chance  to  meet  her  ? " 

"It  was  literally  chance— if,  indeed,  there  is  such  a  thing.  I 
saw  her  first  in  the  garden  of  one  of  the  Eoman  villas,  and  was 
struck  by  her  face  as  I  had  never  been  struck  by  a  woman's  face 
before.  Soon  afterward  I  learned  her  name,  and  was  promised 
an  introduction  to  her  by  Lady  Dorchester.  I  did  not  seek  this, 
however,  and  our  acquaintance  finally  came  about  by  accident. 
Then  we  met  on  various  social  occasions,  but  from  the  first  she 
evinced  a  marked  repulsion  and  dislike  toward  me,  which  evi- 
dently had  its  root  in  some  strong  feeling  that  I  was  unable  to 
understand.  It  did  not  lessen  her  attraction  to  me,"  he  added, 
quietly,  "  but  it  lessened  what  I  felt  to  be  the  danger  of  associa- 
tion with  her.  It  was  only  during  an  excursion  to  Tivoli  a  few 
days  ago,  that  I  learned  the  secret  of  her  dislike  in  learning  who 
she  is  ;  her  guardian  saying  that  he  did  not  think  it  right  I  should 
be  longer  in  ignorance,  and  that  only  her  vehement  opposition 
had  prevented  my  being  told  before." 

"  Who  is  this  guardian  ?  " 

"  His  name  is  Stanhope.  He  is  an  American.  Until  he  told 
me,  I  had  no  idea  of  his  connection  with  Miss  Lescar,  for  she  lives 
and  appears  socially  with  a  wealthy  and  attractive  woman  who  is 
American,  I  believe,  by  birth,  but  English  by  marriage." 


398  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

Another  pause,  and  then  the  Prince — still  passing  backward 
and  forward — said,  abruptly : 

"What  is  she  like?" 

"That  is  a  difficult  question  to  answer,"  said  Waldegrave,  "for 
she  is  not  in  the  least  like  any  one  else  whom  I  have  ever  seen. 
She  is  altogether  original,  and  infinitely  charming.  She  is  very 
beautiful ;  with  a  rare  and  noble  type  of  beauty,  expressive  of 
intellect,  full  of  poetic  grace.  And,  when  you  know  her,  you  be- 
come aware  that  this  beauty  is  only  the  fitting  shrine  for  a  mind 
capable  of  the  highest  thought,  and  a  spirit  cast  in  the  heroic 
mold ;  one  that  kindles  at  a  noble  suggestion,  that  is  vivid  in 
imagination  and  strong  in  feeling,  that  is  proud,  sensitive,  tender, 
and  through  its  very  tenderness  capable  of  passionate  resentment." 

"  Ah !  "  said  the  Prince.  The  sound  seemed  to  escape  him 
unconsciously.  He  said  nothing  more,  and  "Waldegrave  presently 
went  on : 

"  She  has  impressed  me  in  this  manner  from  the  first,  and  ex- 
ercised over  me  a  fascination  against  which  I  have  struggled,  and 
to  which  I  had  not  the  least  intention  of  yielding,  when  I  sup- 
posed her  to  be  simply  an  American  girl,  without  rank  or  conse- 
quence. Only  the  other  day  at  Tivoli  I  had  resolved — and  my 
resolves,  as  you  know,  are  generally  executed — that  I  would  not 
voluntarily  see  her  again  ;  when  the  revelation  was  made,  which 
suddenly  brought  her,  not  only  within  my  own  rank  and  pale, 
but" — the  speaker  paused  for  a  moment,  and  his  voice  changed — 
"  which  gave  to  love  the  force  of  duty." 

The  regular  tread  behind  him  stopped  suddenly,  hearing  which, 
the  young  man  rose  to  his  feet,  and  turning,  faced  his  uncle.  So, 
for  an  instant,  they  stood  looking  at  each  other  in  the  softly-toned 
lamp-light,  before  Prince  "Waldegrave  said,  slowly  : 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? " 

"  I  mean,"  Waldegrave  answered,  "  without  intending  to  cast 
any  reproach  on  you,  that  Miss  Lescar  is  the  innocent  victim  of  a 
wrong  that  shadows  all  the  fair  promise  of  her  life  ;  and  that,  for 
the  honor  of  our  name,  I  am  glad  that  I  can  repair  it ;  that  I  can 
give  her,  if  she  will  accept  it,  the  place  her  mother  lost." 

There  was  another  pause,  and  then  Prince  Waldegrave  said, 
like  one  from  whom  the  words  were  sharply  wrung : 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  399 

"It  is  sometimes  necessary  that,  to  attain  great  ends,  there 
must  be  sacrifice." 

"  No  end  can  justify  a  sacrifice  in  which  honor  is  lost  and  jus- 
tice outraged,"  was  the  reply  that  rose  in  Waldegrave's  mind,  but 
which  his  lips  did  not  utter.  However  sternly  he  might  condemn 
in  thought,  that  sternness  could  not  fail  to  be  tempered  in  expres- 
sion by  the  affection  and  reverence  of  years. 

"At  least,"  he  said  aloud,  and  his  voice  was  grave  and  cold, 
"the  end  being  attained,  there  is  now  no  reason  why  wrong 
should  not  be  repaired  as  far  as  possible." 

"  "What  reparation  do  you  consider  possible — from  me  ?  "  asked 
the  Prince. 

"  It  is  possible,"  answered  Waldegrave,  "  for  you  to  acknowl- 
edge your  daughter.  She  is  a  daughter,  believe  me,  of  whom  a 
king  might  be  proud.  Understand,"  he  added,  quickly,  "that  I 
do  not  ask  this  on  my  own  behalf.  I  am  thinking  solely  of  Tier 
and  of  you,  I  shall  offer  her  all  that  is  mine — my  heart,  my 
name,  my  rank — whatever  you  decide  to  do ;  but  it  would  add 
very  much  to  my  happiness  to  obtain  the  sanction  of  your  ap- 
proval, and  to  know  that  you  had  atoned  for  an  undoubted 
wrong." 

The  voice,  at  once  proud  and  pleading,  sank  to  the  depths  of 
Prince  "Waldegrave's  heart ;  for  those  were  mistaken  who  said 
that  he  had  no  heart.  His  fault  had  been  that  of  towering 
ambition  ;  and  his  indomitable  pride  had  stifled  the  faintest 
acknowledgment  of  wrong,  the  least  outward  sign  of  self-re- 
proach. But,  for  all  that,  self-reproach  had  existed  in  the  depths 
of  his  consciousness,  and,  since  he  had  parted  with  the  wife  who 
proved  an  obstacle  to  the  full  realization  of  his  ambition,  his 
heart  had  been  kept  alive  by  Otto  if  by  no  one  else.  Now,  in  the 
'same  hour,  he  heard  that  this  wife,  who  had  represented  all  that 
was  noblest  and  least  selfish  in  his  life,  had  passed  for  ever  beyond 
the  reach  of  earthly  wrong,  and  Otto  came  to  him  asking  justice 
for  her  daughter.  A  poignant  sense  of  regret  and  the  power  to 
atone  seemed  given  to  him  at  the  same  moment ;  and  like  wax 
the  stern  heart  suddenly  melted. 

"  If  the  sanction  of  my  approval  will  add  to  your  happiness," 
he  said,  "  it  is  yours.  And  my  gratitude  also.  For  you  enable 


400  HEART  OF  STEEL 

me  to  repair  in  some  measure  what  has  never  lain  easily  on  my 
conscience,  and  you  make  yourself,  in  a  double  sense,  the  son  I 
have  long  felt  you  to  be." 

With  the  last  words  he  held  out  his  hand,  which  Waldegrave 
clasped.  Further  speech  was  unnecessary :  they  understood  each 
other  thoroughly. 

Presently,  when  they  were  again  sitting  at  the  window,  Prince 
Waldegrave  said  : 

"  She  must  be  very  like  her  mother,  who,  with  all  her  gentle- 
ness, had  depths  of  possible  resentment.  I  learned  that  when, 
after  the  dissolution  of  the  marriage,  she  refused  to  accept  any- 
thing from  me  for  herself  or  her  daughter.  And  I  had  no  longer 
power  to  insist,"  he  added,  with  a  short  sigh. 

"  From  what  Mr.  Stanhope  tells  me,"  said  Waldegrave,  "  the 
resentment  of  the  mother  was  slight  to  that  of  the  daughter.  There 
is  a  fiery  element  in  her  nature— I  have  seen  it  more  than  once — 
which  will  render  it  not  easy  to  induce  her  to  forget  the  past." 

"  Yet  you  hope  to  do  so  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  for  I  have  already  won  something.  Except  when  this 
memory  is  revived,  when  she  forgets  for  the  moment  my  name 
and  its  associations,  she  no  longer  regards  me  with  dislike.  There 
will  be  difficulty.  That  I  expect.  But  difficulty  has  never  daunted 
me  ;  and,  indeed  " — he  smiled — "  I  do  not  think  I  should  care  for 
anything  that  was  to  be  won  without  it." 

"  Understand,"  said  Prince  Waldegrave,  "  that  you  carry  with 
you  not  only  my  approval,  but  from  myself  the  offer  to  acknowl- 
edge, receive,  and  fitly  provide  for  her  as  my  daughter."  He 
paused  a  moment  before  saying,  in  a  lower  tone:  "The  death  of 
the  mother  removes  any  possible  obstacle  to  this,  and  it  is  what 
I  should  be  inclined  to  do,  even  apart  from  your  wishes.  But 
those  wishes  make  everything  easy." 

"It  is  hardly  more  than  I  expected  from  you,"  said  Walde- 
grave, "but  it  increases  the  gratitude  and  affection  which  I  have 
always  felt  for  you.  And  you  can  not  realize  what  a  daughter 
you  will  gain.  She  is  peerless." 

A  shade  came  over  the  Prince's  face. 

"  That  may  be,"  he  said  ;  "  and,  for  your  sake  and  the  sake  of 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  401 

justice,  I  shall  be  glad  to  welcome  her  and  make  all  the  amende 
in  my  power.  But  for  myself,  seeing  her  can  only  be  an  occasion 
of  great  pain." 

Waldegrave  could  comprehend  this,  and  for  several  minutes 
there  was  silence.  Then  his  uncle  rose. 

"  The  physicians  whom  the  Princess  believes  in  declare  that  I 
sbould  retire  early  as  well  as  dine  early,"  he  said;  "and  so  I 
must  bid  you  good-night.  "When  do  you  return  to  Eome?  " 

"  I  shall  start  by  an  early  train  to-morrow  morning,"  Walde- 
grave  replied,  "  unless  you  wish  to  see  me  again." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  you  again,"  the  Prince  said,  "  but  I  will 
not  detain  you  for  anything  so  trifling  as  political  affairs,  when 
you  are  evidently  anxious  to  be  away." 

"  My  anxiety  is  not  so  great  that  it  can  not  support  the  delay 
of  a  few  hours,"  Waldegrave  answered.  "  I  shall  certainly  not 
leave,  then,  until  the  midday  train." 

With  this  they  separated,  and,  as  his  uncle  retired,  Walde- 
grave, who  felt  excitement  like  electricity  in  every  fiber,  passed 
out  into  the  garden.  The  soft  gloom,  the  odorous  breath  of  the 
night  met  him  with  an  exquisite  charm,  and,  for  the  first  time, 
he  surrendered  himself  wholly  to  the  spell  of  thoughts  and  visions 
which  rose  in  the  perfume  of  every  flower,  and  mingled  with  the 
soft  music  of  the  sea.  Not  even  in  that  memorable  ride  from 
Tivoli  had  he  felt  so  much  as  if  moving  in  an  enchanted  dream. 
Then  surprise  was  still  overshadowing  him,  and  doubt  and  strug- 
gle were  before  him ;  but  now  everything  had  been  magically 
smoothed,  obstacles  had  vanished ;  it  seemed  as  if  in  a  special 
manner  Fate  had  interfered  in  his  behalf — and  that  became  not 
only  possible,  but  the  most  desirable  of  all  possibilities,  which  a 
little  time  before  had  appeared  altogether  impossible.  He  was 
like  one  who  trod  on  air :  all  the  romance  of  passion  wakened 
under  the  stars  of  this  fair  southern  night.  Irene's  proud,  deli- 
cate presence  seemed  beside  him — it  walked  with  him  down  the 
avenues,  dusk  with  shadow  and  rich  with  fragrance ;  it  paused 
where  the  fairy-like  fountains  laughed  and  tossed  their  waters, 
like  Undine,  and  stood  by  him  on  the  broad,  curved  terrace  that 
overlooked  the  sea.  Leaning  on  the  marble  balustrade,  he  gazed 
out  over  the  starlit  waves,  while  all  the  influences  of  the  place 


402  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

and  hour  entered  into  and  made  a  part  of  his  passionate  happi- 
ness— happiness  so  great  that  it  was  like  exaltation. 

Not  to  every  life  does  such  an  hour  come,  nor  can  the  most 
favored  life  know  it  in  perfection  more  than  once.  Many  con- 
ditions are  needed  to  produce  it,  and  it  is  rarely  that  all  of  them 
are  fulfilled.  But  all  of  them  were  fulfilled  for  Waldegrave  in 
this  hour,  under  the  divine  sky,  with  the  sea  of  immortal  poetry 
sighing  gently  at  his  feet.  Fronds  of  feathery  palms  were  dark 
ahove  his  head,  across  the  waves  the  lights  of  Nice  gleamed  like 
golden  stars,  there  was  a  sound  of  oars,  and  an  unseen  voice 
floated  over  the  water  in  some  sweet,  familiar  strains.  Again  he 
fancied  the  presence  he  knew  and  loved  leaning  beside  him  over 
the  glistening  balustrade,  gazing  out  into  the  night  that  seemed  to 
throb  with  beauty  and  all  the  indefinable  charm  of  these  enchanted 
shores.  They  had  stood  together  in  many  fair  scenes — together, 
and  yet  apart — but  here  she  would  be  at  last  in  her  rightful  place, 
within  the  shelter  of  her  father's  home.  It  can  be  said  for  him 
that  just  now  he  thought  more  of  this  than  even  of  all  that  he 
hoped  and  believed  might  follow.  For  that  is  not  true  love — in- 
deed, it  is  doubtful  if  it  deserves  the  name  of  love  at  all — which 
does  not,  above  all  things,  long  to  secure  the  beloved  object  from 
the  harsh  touch  of  suffering.  It  is  more  often  a  longing  than  a  pos- 
sibility; but,  when  it  is  possible,  existence  does  not  hold  greater  de- 
light. And  this  was  now  given  to  Waldegrave.  He  never  doubted 
it  would  be  his  to  lift  the  shadow  of  wrong  and  pain  from  the 
life  they  had  so  long  darkened ;  and,  looking  out  into  the  mag- 
ical darkness  toward  the  crescent  shores  of  Italy,  he  sent  his  heart 
to  those  old  walls  of  Rome  which  he  longed  to  enter. 


CHAPTER   III. 

ON  the  morning  of  the  day  that  Waldegrave  reached  Nice, 
Irene,  standing  on  the  broad  platform  in  front  of  San  Pietro  in 
Montorio,  gazed  with  delighted  eyes  over  the  unrivaled  scene 
spread  before  her. 

Those  who  know  Rome  are  aware  that  this  church  stands  on 
the  height  of  the  Janiculum,  where  the  hill  rises  boldly  above  the 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  403 

Tiber ;  that  it  marks  the  spot  of  St.  Peter's  crucifixion,  as  the  great 
Vatican  basilica  of  the  same  name  marks  the  place  of  his  burial — 
and  that  it  is  to  modern  Rome  what  the  Capitol  was  to  ancient 
Rome,  in  the  extent  and  variety  of  the  view  which  the  parapet- 
bounded  platform  commands.  All  Rome — ancient  and  modern — 
is  spread  before  the  gaze,  from  the  Palatine  to  the  Leonine  city, 
from  the  Aventine  to  the  Pincio,  and  from  the  mountains  to  the 
sea.  In  other  places  some  special  era  of  history — be  it  long  or 
short— is  recalled  to  the  mind  ;  but  here  all  history  seems  to  have 
met  and  left  its  record,  so  that,  as  the  eye  passes  from  one  object 
to  another,  a  gulf  of  centuries  is  heaped  in  a  glance.  On  this  fair 
day  of  spring  every  dome  and  tower,  every  broken  arch  and  storied 
ruin  stood  clearly  revealed,  with  that  distinctness  of  outline  which 
as  an  effect  of  the  limpid  atmosphere  distinguishes  everything  in 
Italy.  The  dark  height  of  the  Palatine,  with  its  somber  ruins, 
looked  over  the  mediaaval  houses  thickly  clustered  between  its 
base  and  the  Tiber ;  while  above  their  irregular,  many-colored 
roofs,  tbe  picturesque  campanile  of  San  Giorgio  in  Velahro  rose 
against  the  marvelous  blue  sky,  and  there  was  a  glimpse  of  the 
columns  and  architrave  of  its  portico.  Nearer  the  river  stood  tbe 
graceful  round  temple  of  Vesta,  with  its  roof  of  rugged  tiles  so 
dear  to  artists,  and  in  the  river-wall  keen  eyes  might  have  dis- 
cerned a  circular  opening  which  was  none  other  than  the  mouth 
of  the  Cloaca  Maxima,  built  by  Tarquinius  Priscus,  more  than  two 
thousand  years  ago,  to  drain  the  marshy  land  of  the  Velabrum, 
and  still  serving  the  purpose  for  which  it  was  intended.  Beyond, 
the  bold,  rocky  escarpment  of  the  Aventine  was  crowned  by  the 
churches  of  Santa  Sabina,  San  Alessio,  and  the  Priorato — names 
that  echo  like  the  blast  of  a  trumpet  from  the  Ages  of  Faith.  For 
within  the  cloisters  of  Santa  Sabina  is  the  cell  of  St.  Dominic,  and 
to  its  door  came  the  "  Angel  of  the  SchooL,"  *  pursued  by  the  en- 
treaties of  the  world  he  was  renouncing.  And  from  the  Priorato, 
with  its  church  filled  with  tombs  of  the  Knights  of  Malta,  what 
visions  rise  of  the  stormy  days  when  those  sworn  soldiers  of  the 
Cross  stood  with  their  mailed  breasts  between  Christendom  and 
the  infidel  power  of  the  East ! 

Then,  as  Irene  let  her  gaze  wander  over  the  maze  of  streets 
*  St.  Thomas  Aquinas. 


404  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

and  houses,  of  churches  and  palaces  that  cover  the  space  between 
the  Tarpeian  Rock  and  the  Castle  of  San  Angelo— space  crowded 
•with  objects  that  open  such  doors  to  memory  and  imagination  as 
no  other  spot  on  earth  affords — she  could  mark  the  splendid  curve 
of  the  Tiber,  as  sweeping  by  the  Leonine  city  where  another  Leo 
reigns,  and  where  the  wondrous  dome  stood  out  against  a  back- 
ground of  the  Campagna  and  the  hills,  it  came  flowing  past 
the  Trasteverine  gardens  white  with  blossoms ;  past  the  great 
gateway  of  the  Orsini  Palace  with  its  sculptured  bears;  past  the 
classic  isle  of  the  Tiber,  which  ancient  tradition  tells  was  born 
from  the  produce  of  the  corn-fields  of  the  Tarquins ;  past  the 
noble  tower  which  alone  remains  of  the  castle  built  on  this  island 
by  the  family  of  St.  Gregory  the  Great,  and  occupied  as  a  fortress 
by  the  Countess  Matilda,  the  heroic  defender  of  the  Holy  See ; 
past  those  massive  fragments  of  masonry  which  are  the  tokens 
and  remnants  of  the  Pons  Sublicim,  the  oldest  bridge  in  Rome, 
that  which  Horatius  and  his  two  companions  "  kept "  against  the 
Etruscan  army ;  and  past  those  gigantic  heads  of  lions,  half  hid- 
den by  shrubs  and  ivy  on  the  Trastevere  bank,  from  which  in 
ancient  times  chains  were  drawn  across  the  stream  to  prevent  the 
advance  of  hostile  vessels — until,  at  last  escaping  from  the  mighty 
walls,  the  current  takes  its  way  rejoicing  through  green  fields 
toward  that  distant  shining  line  where  the  sea  breaks  in  many  a 
long,  curling  wave  on  the  Ostian  beach. 

"I  should  like  to  know  of  what  you  are  thinking,  mademoi- 
selle," said  a  voice,  speaking  so  close  beside  Irene  that  she  started 
perceptibly  as  she  turned  to  meet  the  dark  eyes  of  the  Marquis  de 
Chateaumesnil. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  I  have  startled  you,"  he  continued ;  "  but  I 
have  been  standing  here  for  several  minutes,  and  you  were  so  un- 
conscious of  my  presence  that  the  desire  to  know  the  subject  of 
your  thoughts  became  irresistible." 

"  I  should  have  no  objection  to  telling  them  to  yon,"  she  an- 
swered, smiling,  "but  you  would  probably  not  be  interested." 

"Try  me,  at  least." 

"  But  where  shall  I  begin  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I  have  thought  of 
so  much: — there  is  so  much  to  suggest  thought  in  what  lies  before 
us.  Perhaps  I  began  with  Lars  Porsenna.  I  fancied  him  stand- 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  405 

ing  here,  watching  the  three  who  kept  the  bridge  against  his 
array.  He  must  have  had  a  noble  heart.  You  remember  when 
Horatius  plunged  into  the  Tiber — 

"  '  Eeaven  save  him,'  said  Lars  Porsenna, 

4  And  bring  him  safe  to  shore, 
For  such  a  gallant  feat  of  arms 
Was  never  seen  before ! '  " 

"That,  however,  is  not  exactly  history,"  suggested  the  Mar- 
quis, smiling. 

But  Irene  did  not  choose  to  heed  this.  "  It  is  what  a  brave 
heart  would  have  felt,"  she  said,  "  and  I  am  sure  he  must  have 
uttered  something  equivalent  to  it.  At  least,  you  will  not  deny 
that  he  was  here  and  the  bridge  there,  that  Horatius  held  it  '  in 
the  brave  days  of  old,'  and  that  not  all  Etruria's  army  could  put 
the  Tarquins  back  in  Rome." 

"Believe  me,  I  have  not  the  least  inclination  to  deny  it,"  he 
said.  "  And  what  did  you  think  of  next?  " 

"  There  was  much  to  think  of,"  she  answered,  "  but  I  could 
not  dwell  on  it.  My  mind  passed  over  all  the  long  centuries 
which  lay  between  those  dim  early  days  and  the  broad  light  of 
another  day  when  two  Jewish  prisoners,  apostles  of  a  strange 
faith,  were  led  along  the  road  that  winds  yonder  at  the  foot  of 
the  Aventine  and  out  of  the  Ostian  Gate,  as  companions  in  mar- 
tyrdom. We  know  where  they  parted,  where  one  was  led  to 
suffer  by  the  sword,*  while  the  other  was  brought  here  to  be  cru- 
cified. Can  you  not  fancy  the  scene  on  which  he  looked  ? — the 
imperial  city  as  it  flashed  back  the  sunlight  that  midsummer  day 
— the  palace  of  Ca?sar  covering  the  Palatine,  the  great  temple  of 
Jupiter  on  the  Capitoline,  the  hills  crowded  with  dwellings,  the 
Campus  Martius  covered  with  temples,  porticoes,  and  columns  1 
Would  it  not  have  seemed  a  wild  dream  that,  through  the  power 
of  the  keys  given  to  the  poor  prisoner  dying  here,  it  was  to  rule 
the  world  in  a  far  deeper,  wider  sense  than  ever  before  ? — that  it 
was  to  be  through  all  ages  the  See  of  Peter  ?  " 

"  You  remind  me,"  said  the  Marquis,  "  of  a  curious  fact— the 

*  St.  Paul,  as  a  Roman  citizen,  was  beheaded  about  two  miles  from 
Rome,  on  the  road  to  Ostia,  at  a  place  now  called  the  "  Tre  Fontanc." 


406  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

name  Koma,  which  comes  down  from  the  old  Pelasgio  days  and 
signifies  Strength,  is  with  the  letters  placed  in  inverted  order 
Amor,  which  is  Love.  It  is  as  if  from  the  very  foundation  of 
that  mighty  power  which  was  to  rule  the  world  by  strength,  its 
name  contained  a  prophecy  of  the  mightier  power  that  should 
succeed  it  and  rule  the  world  by  love." 

She  looked  at  him  with  kindling  eyes.  The  beauty  of  the 
thought  touched  her  like  a  strain  of  noble  harmony. 

"That  is  exquisite,"  she  said.  "I  never  thought  of  it  before, 
although  I  knew  the  signification  of  the  name.  But " — she  looked 
round  with  a  sudden  air  of  recollection — "  Mrs.  Vance  is  waiting 
for  me  in  the  church.  We  came  here  to  an  interesting  function, 

of  which  Monsignor  K told  me  last  night,  and  when  it  was 

over  Mrs.  Yance  went  in  search  of  a  sacristan  to  show  us  the 
chapels  and  cloister,  while  I  ran  out  for  some  warm  air  and  the 
glorious  view.  I  must  go  to  her  now." 

"And  I  may  come  with  you?  " 

"  Certainly,  if  you  care  to  do  so." 

The  Marquis  plainly  cared.  He  turned  and  walked  by  her  side 
across  the  terrace  to  the  door  of  the  church,  where  at  this  moment 
Mrs.  Vance  appeared. 

"  My  dear  Irene,"  she  said,  "  where  have  you  been  ? "  Then, 
recognizing  her  companion — "  Oh,  M.  le  Marquis,  I  was  not 
aware  that  you  were  here  !  " 

"I  have  not  been  here  long,  madame,"  the  Marquis  answered. 
"  Returning  from  a  ride  in  the  grounds  of  the  Villa  Pamfili-Doria, 
I  halted  for  the  view,  which  I  always  admire ;  and,  seeing  Made- 
moiselle Lescar,  I  dismounted  and  joined  her.  But,  though  I 
often  pause  on  this  terrace,  I  am  not  very  well  acquainted  with 
the  interior  of  the  church.  Therefore,  if  you  will  permit  me  to 
join  you,  I  shall  be  glad." 

"  We  shall  be  very  happy,"  said  Mrs.  Vance,  graciously. 

Then  they  went  into  the  church,  where  the  sacristan  was 
waiting  for  them — a  picture  of  calm,  resigned  patience.  There 
are  few  more  pathetic  figures  than  these  Roman  sacristans.  Fre- 
quently they  are  monks — some  humble  lay-brother,  with  the 
simplicity  and  gentleness  of  a  child,  his  worn  face  telling  a  story 
of  hardship  and  care,  which  might,  one  would  think,  disarm  the 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  407 

most  virulent  prejudice.  The  hand  of  persecution  is  heavy  upon 
them.  With  lawless  robbery  the  government  has  confiscated  all 
their  revenues — accumulations  of  the  piety  of  generations — and 
property,  to  which  the  state  had  no  more  right  than  to  the 
private  estate  of  any  individual.  But  retribution,  though  it  travel 
"with  a  leaden  heel,"  yet  strikes  "with  an  iron  hand";  and  the 
terrible  cry  of  Communism,  of  war  against  all  rights  of  property, 
is  sounding  like  thunder  in  the  ears  of  those  who,  in  their  own 
persons  or  in  those  of  their  ancestors,  have  laid  sacrilegious  hands 
upon  the  property  of  the  Church.  "We  can  rob  God  with 
impunity,"  these  rulers  have  seemed  to  think  for  many  a  long 
day.  But  "God,"  says  St.  Augustine,  "is  patient,  because  eter- 
nal." Not  in  an  hour,  a  day,  a  century,  are  his  judgments 
wrought.  He  suffers  the  seed  sown  by  men  to  ripen  to  their 
full  evil  harvest ;  and  it  is  only  by  looking  back  across  the  cen- 
turies that  we  can  trace  the  beginning  of  the  fire  now  under- 
mining Europe  with  such  fearful  rapidity. 

They  made  the  round  of  the  chapels,  with  their  frescoes  and 
pictures  by  Sebastian  del  Piombo,  by  Yesari  and  Volterra ;  they 
marked  the  place  over  the  high  altar  where  the  great  Trans- 
figuration of  Raphael — which  was  painted  for  this  church — hung, 
until  carried  to  Paris  at  the  time  of  the  French  invasion  by  that 
chief  of  robbers,  Napoleon,  and  which  was  placed  in  the  Vatican 
gallery  when  returned  to  Rome  with  the  great  freebooter's  other 
spoils ;  and,  finally,  they  went  into  the  cloister,  where  the  Tem- 
pietto — a  small  domed  building  resting  on  Doric  columns,  a  model 
of  architectural  beauty — marks  the  exact  spot  of  St.  Peter's  cruci- 
fixion. 

The  thoughts  which  rise  in  the  mind,  the  feelings  which  fill 
the  heart  here,  are  indescribable.  Across  the  mighty  gulf  of 
centuries  we  almost  seem  to  touch  the  robe  of  him  to  whom  the 
tender  yet  solemn  voice  of  his  Lord  said:  "When  thou  wast 
younger  thou  didst  gird  thyself  and  walk  where  thon  wouldst. 
But  when  thou  shalt  be  old,  thou  shalt  stretch  forth  thy  hands 
and  another  shall  gird  thee,  and  lead  thee  whither  thou  wouldst 
not."  "And  this,"  explains  St.  John,  "he  said,  signifying  by 
what  death  he  should  glorify  God.  And  when  he  had  said  this, 
he  saith  to  him,  '  Follow  me.'  "  And  here  was  where  he  followed 


408  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

him! — in  deep  humility,  with  head  turned  toward  the  earth, 
alleging  that  he  was  not  worthy  to  suffer  in  the  same  nlanner  as 
his  divine  Master  had  suffered.  O  wonderful  Fisherman  of 
Galilee,  perfected  out  of  so  much  human  weakness  and  lovahle 
impetuosity  into  the  Prince  and  Euler  of  God's  Church,  thou 
who  wast  made  the  rock  against  which  the  gates  of  hell  shall 
not  prevail,  thou  to  whom  were  given  the  keys  of  the  kingdom  of 
heaven,  thou  to  whom  was  spoken  the  solemn  charge,  "Feed  my 
sheep,"  on  what  untold  glory  must  not  thine  eyes  have  opened, 
when  on  this  spot  they  closed  upon  the  fair  Italian  sky  and  the 
glittering  splendor  of  the  mistress  of  the  world! 

When  they  re-entered  the  church  from  the  cloister  and  were 
slowly  walking  down  its  long  nave,  Irene  paused  and  directed  the 
attention  of  the  Marquis  to  the  gravestones  which  mark  the 
resting-place  of  Tyrconnel  and  Tyrone.  "After  all,"  she  said, 
"do  adversity  and  exile  greatly  matter?  How  soon  it  is  all 
over!" 

"And  how  long  it  has  been  since  these  laid  down  their 
burden !  "  he  remarked,  looking  at  the  date.  "  What  a  sublime 
thing  it  is  that  in  all  ages  there  has  been  this  city  of  refuge  for 
Christian  exiles,  that  they  could  bring  their  wrongs  and  sorrows 
here,  where  all  things  speak  of  the  brevity  of  human  injustice 
and  the  steadfastness  of  eternal  truth! " 

Irene  looked  at  him  with  a  wistful  expression. 

"Yes,  it  is  well  to  be  here,"  she  said.  "Even  those  who 
have  not  lost  kingdoms  and  crowns  may  find  a  home  of  the  soul 
when  life  offers  them  no  other,  and  gain  wisdom  by  meditating 
among  these  speaking  tombs.  I  wish  that  I  could  hope  to  be 
buried  in  a  Roman  church,"  she  ended,  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  I  hope  that  it  may  be  long  before  you  need  a  tomb,"  said 
the  Marquis. 

She  did  not  answer ;  she  was  again  looking  down  at  the  grave- 
stones which  cover  the  hearts  that  once  beat  so  high,  the  brains 
that  once  planned  so  daringly,  the  empty  shell  of  the  spirits  that 
risked  so  much  and  suffered  so  keenly. 

"In  Aubrey  de  Vere's  'Urbs  Roma,'"  she  said,  "there  is  a 
sonnet  which  I  never  come  here  without  recalling."  And  in  a 
voice  with  a  pathetic  thrill  she  repeated : 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  409 

u '  Within  St.  Peter's  fane,  that  kindly  hearth 
Where  exiles  crowned  their  earthly  loads  down  cast, 
The  Scottish  kings  *  repose,  their  wanderings  past, 
In  death  more  royal  thrice  than  in  their  birth. 
Near  them,  within  a  church  of  narrower  girth, 
But  with  dilated  memories  yet  more  vast, 
Sad  Ulster's  princes  find  their  rest  at  last, 
Their  home  the  holiest  spot,  save  one,  on  earth. 
This  is  that  mount  which  saw  St.  Peter  die ! 
Where  stands  yon  dome  stood  once  that  cross  reversed  : 
From  this  dread  hill,  a  Western  Calvary, 
The  empire  and  that  synagogue  accursed 
Clashed  two  ensanguined  hands — like  Cain — in  one. 
Sleep,  where  the  Apostle  slept,  Tyrconnel  and  Tyrone ! '  " 

Silence  followed  the  last  fall  of  her  tones — silence  which  was 
the  best  tribute — and  after  a  moment  they  moved  on.  But  when 
they  came  out  again  into  the  soft  air,  with  the  fair  city  at  their 
feet,  the  wide  historic  plain  and  the  blue  distance  of  magic  heights 
afar,  the  Marquis  said : 

"  It  is  as  great  a  pleasure  to  hear  you  repeat  poetry  as  to  hear 
you  sing.  Your  voice  says  so  much— it  would  put  noble  meaning 
into  common  words." 

"But  those  are  not  common  words,"  she  said. 

"  No — certainly  not.  But  the  voice  is  more  than  any  words," 
he  answered. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Yance,  coming  up,  "  I  think  we  had  bet- 
ter go  now — especially  if  you  want  to  stop  in  the  Trastevere." 

"  May  I  ask  where  you  mean  to  stop  in  the  Trastevere  ? "  the 
Marquis  inquired,  as  they  turned  toward  the  waiting  carriage. 

"At  Santa  Cecilia,"  answered  Mrs.  Vance.  "  It  is  a  church 
of  which  Irene  is  so  fond,  that  she  is  never  in  the  neighborhood 
without  going  there." 

"  I  am  sure  that  I  ought  to  have  a  special  devotion  to  the 

' .  .  .  seraph-haunted  queen  of  harmony,' " 
said  Irene,  with  a  smile. 

"And  I  am  sure  she  must  reward  it  by  obtaining  for  your 

*  James  II,  his  son,  and  grandson,  are  buried  in  St.  Peter's. 


410  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

voice  something  of  the  sweetness  that  we  are  told  her  own  pos- 
sessed," said  the  Marquis.  Then,  as  he  put  them  into  the  carriage, 
he  added,  "It  is  an  interesting  church,  Santa  Cecilia,  is  it  not?  " 

"  Very  interesting,"  answered  Mrs.  Vance.  "  Will  you  not 
come  with  us  ? " 

"  "With  your  permission,  I  will  follow  and  meet  you  there,"  he 
replied.  And,  as  they  drove  away,  they  saw  him  beckoning  a 
man  who  held  his  horse. 

In  the  carriage  there  was  silence  for  a  minute.  Then  Mrs. 
Vance  said,  "  I  think,  my  dear,  that  the  Marquis  likes  your  so- 
ciety." 

"And  I,"  said  Ir&ne  with  a  laugh,  "  certainly  like  his.  I  have 
always  found  him  very  simpatico." 

To  this  Mrs.  Vance  made  no  reply ;  and  it  was  not  long  he- 
fore  the  carriage  paused  at  the  door  of  the  ancient  church  founded 
upon  and  still  retaining  part  of  the  dwelling  of  the  noble  Koman 
lady  who  confessed  God  so  valiantly  sixteen  hundred  years  ago, 
and  here  received  the  crown  of  martyrdom.  We  stand  on  the 
threshold  of  the  palace  where,  as  the  antiphon  which  is  sung  on 
her  festival  says,  "  Cecilia,  thy  servant,  served  thee,  O  Lord,  as 
the  bee  that  is  never  idle  "  ;  where  the  beautiful  tradition  tells  that 
angels  often  descended  to  join  in  her  songs  of  praise,  and  where 
by  order  of  the  prefect — who  feared  to  bring  to  public  execution 
one  of  such  high  rank  and  exalted  virtue — she  was  imprisoned  in 
the  sudatorium  of  her  own  bath  and  a  blazing  fire  lighted,  in  or- 
der that  she  might  be  suffocated  by  the  hot  vapors.  But  "  when 
the  bath  was  opened  she  was  found  still  alive,  singing  with  rav- 
ishing sweetness  the  praises  of  God  who  had  sent  a  cooling  shower 
to  temper  the  heat."  A  lictor  was  then  sent  to  behead  her,  but 
he  performed  his  duty  so  ill  that  she  still  lived  after  the  third 
stroke;  and  Koman  law  forbade  that  a  victim  should  be  stricken 
more  than  three  times.  So  the  Christians  found  her  bathed  in 
her  blood ;  and  during  three  days  she  preached  and  taught,  like  a 
doctor  of  the  church,  with  such  sweetness  and  eloquence  that 
four  hundred  pagans  were  converted.  She  was  visited  by  Pope 
Urban,  "to  whom  she  bequeathed  the  poor  she  had  nourished 
and  the  palace  in  which  she  had  lived,  that  it  might  be  conse- 
crated as  a  temple  to  her  Saviour.  Then  thanking  God  that  he 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  411 

considered  her,  a  humble  woman,  worthy  to  share  the  glory  of 
his  heroes,  and  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  heavens  opening 
before  her,  she  departed  to  her  heavenly  bridegroom  in  the  year 
of  our  Lord  280." 

The  Marquis  joined  Mrs.  Vance  and  Irene  as  they  descended 
from  the  carriage,  and  together  they  entered  the  ancient  atrium 
with  its  antique  pillars  and  frieze  of  mosaic.  It  was  noon,  and  a 
glory  of  sunlight  was  glancing  along  the  polished  marble,  and  giv- 
ing a  new  aureole  to  the  medallion  heads  of  Cecilia,  Pope  Urban, 
Valerian,  and  Tiburtius,  which  appear  in  the  old  mosaic.  But 
there  was  no  sunlight  in  the  cool,  dim  church  when,  lifting  the 
heavy  leathern  curtain,  they  entered.  The  broad  nave  spread 
before  them,  its  massive  columns  forming  a  vista  for  the  eye,  at 
the  end  of  which  rose  the  tribune,  the  richly  carved  altar,  and 
beautiful  Gothic  canopy.  Lamps  of  chased  silver  were  burning 
around  it,  and — was  it  a  vision,  that  exquisite  sleeping  form  be- 
neath, or  had  the  saint  returned  to  dwell  humbly  under  the  altar, 
in  the  house  which  she  gave  to  God  ? 

In  the  archives  of  the  Vatican  there  is  an  account  written  by 
Pope  Paschal  I  himself,  describing  how,  "  yielding  to  the  infirm- 
ity of  the  flesh,"  he  fell  asleep  in  his  chair  during  the  early  morn- 
ing-service at  St.  Peter's,  his  mind  preoccupied  with  a  longing  to 
find  the  burial-place  of  Cecilia  and  discover  her  relics.  Then,  in 
a  glorified  vision,  the  saint  appeared  to  him  and  revealed  the  spot 
where  she  lay  in  the  catacomb  of  Calixtus,  and  there  on  the  fol- 
lowing day  her  body  was  found  and  transported  to  her  church. 
This  was  in  the  ninth  century.  In  the  sixteenth,  Sfondrato,  titu- 
lar cardinal  of  the  church,  opened  her  tomb,  and  the  embalmed 
body  was  found,  as  it  had  previously  been  found  by  Paschal,  robed 
in  gold  tissue,  with  linen  cloths  steeped  in  blood  at  her  feet,  not 
lying  upon  the  back,  like  a  body  in  a  tomb,  but  upon  its  right 
side,  with  every  appearance  of  sleep.  "All  the  people  of  Rome 
rushed  to  look  upon  the  saint,  who  was  afterward  inclosed  as  she 
was  found,  in  a  shrine  of  cypress-wood  cased  in  silver.  But,  be- 
fore she  was  again  hidden  from  sight,  the  greatest  artist  of  the 
day,  Stefano  Maderno,  was  called  in  to  sculpture  the  marble  por- 
trait which  now  lies  upon  her  tomb." 

"Who  that  has  seen  can  forget  this  lovely  statue  ?    The  perfect 


412  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

position  of  the  limbs,  the  beautifully  modeled  drapery,  the  delicate 
hands  lightly  crossed  at  the  wrists,  the  wound  in  the  slender  neck, 
the  ineffable  purity  which  breathes  in  every  line,  all  stamp  it  as 
no  work  of  human  inspiration.  "  Behold,"  says  the  inscription, 
"  the  body  of  the  most  holy  virgin,  Cecilia,  whom  I  myself  saw 
lying  incorrupt  in  her  tomb.  I  have  in  this  marble  expressed  for 
thee  the  same  saint  in  the  very  same  posture  of  body."  And  so, 
under  the  altar  the  beautiful  figure  lies,  while  around  burn  ever 
the  ninety-six  silver  lamps  given  to  the  shrine  by  Cardinal  Sfon- 
drato,  whose  own  tomb  is  in  this  church. 

There  are  delightful  hours  to  be  spent  in  these  old  Roman 
churches,  rich  with  beauty  and  richer  still  in  imperishable  memo- 
ries. Hundreds  of  years  pass  before  these  altars,  "  like  a  watch  in 
the  night " ;  the  floors  are  worn  with  the  feet  of  unnumbered  gen- 
erations who  have  passed  over  them ;  the  shrines  are  enriched  by 
the  love  and  faith  of  hearts  that  have  been  still  for  ages ;  the  air 
seems  filled  with  the  incense  of  unceasing  prayer ;  the  roar  and 
fret  of  the  world  die  away  into  a  peace  that  has  in  it  the  quiet 
of  centuries,  the  promise  of  eternity. 

After  lingering  before  the  statue,  IrSne  carried  her  companion 
into  the  sudatorium,  which  still  retains  the  pipes  and  calorifers  of 
an  ancient  Roman  bath.  The  sacristan,  pleased  by  her  eager  in- 
terest, explained  everything  minutely  in  soft-voweled  Italian,  and 
ran  his  taper  far  down  to  show  the  extent  of  the  black  furnace 
underneath.  It  was  a  picture,  the  Marquis  thought — the  beautiful 
girl  kneeling  on  the  iron  grating  in  order  to  look  into  the  dark 
depths  below,  the  monk  in  his  picturesque  habit,  with  his  ani- 
mated face  and  close-shorn  head,  the  taper  flashing  fitfully,  the 
dim  old  walls  making  just  the  background  a  painter  would  have 
chosen  for  the  scene. 

"When  they  stood  again  in  the  atrium,  he  said  to  her:  "You 
must  let  me  thank  you  for  the  pleasure  of  this  morning.  To  be 
with  you  in  such  places  is  a  greater  pleasure  than  you  can  imagine. 
It  gives  one  new  eyes  with  which  to  regard  even  familiar  things, 
for  I  do  not  think  there  is  a  ray  of  present  sunlight,  or  a  memory 
of  past  glory,  that  does  not  enter  into  your  delight," 

"  I  am  glad  if  it  is  so,"  she  answered,  simply.  "  When  I  see 
people  who  can  neither  enjoy  nor  appreciate,  it  seems  to  me  that, 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  413 

among  the  things  for  which  we  should  be  most  grateful,  the  power 
to  enjoy  and  appreciate  does  not  rank  least.  But  you,  M.  le  Mar- 
qujs» — she  looked  at  him  with  a  smile — "you  possess  the  faculty 
yourself/' 

"When  I  am  with  you — yes,"  he  replied.  "But  it  is  a  re- 
flected light.  It  does  not  stay." 

"  And  is  there  no  spell  by  which  one  could  make  it  stay  ?  " 
she  asked,  still  smiling. 

What  was  there  in  his  glance  that  struck  her  suddenly  with  a 
sense  of  sadness  ? 

"None,"  he  answered,  gravely.  "Sunshine  that  stays  must 
come  from  within,  not  from  without." 

Certainly  it  had  all  vanished  from  his  aspect  when,  having  put 
Mrs.  Vance  and  herself  again  into  their  carriage,  he  stood  for  a 
moment  as  they  drove  away.  Material  sunlight  was  pouring  into 
the  narrow  street,  lighting  up  the  front  of  the  picturesque  medi- 
aeval house  which  faces  the  church,  and  bringing  out  the  effect  of 
many  a  curious  bit  of  architecture  and  tone  of  color  along  the 
way  which  his  eye  followed.  But  it  is  doubtful  if  he  saw  any  of 
it.  As  the  carriage  disappeared,  he  turned  and  walked  toward 
his  horse  with  a  face  grave  to  sternness. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MBS.  FALCONEK  soon  heard  of  the  events  of  the  morning. 
Irene  mentioned  at  luncheon  that  the  Marquis  had  joined  them 
at  San  Pietro,  and  accompanied  them  to  Santa  Cecilia;  and,  al- 
though Mrs.  Vance  endeavored  to  appear  absorbed  in  a  salad 
which  she  was  mixing,  her  expression  of  face  was  hardly  less  sig- 
nificant than  the  fact.  Mrs.  Falconer  observed  it,  smiled  slightly, 
and  at  the  first  opportunity  afterward  said  to  her  : 

"  So,  you  are  like  every  one  else,  Aunt  Marian !  You  per- 
ceive that  M.  de  Chateaumesnil  has  lost  his  heart  to  Irene,  and 
you  have  not  the  least  idea  of  giving  me  a  friendly  hint  to  that 
effect." 

"  My  dear  Sydney !  "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Vance.  She  could  not 
for  a  moment  say  anything  more,  so  entirely  did  this  sudden  at- 


414:  HEAET  OF  STEEL. 

tack,  this  plain  utterance  of  what  was  only  a  dawning  suspicion  in 
her  own  mind,  confound  her.  Then  she  made  an  altogether  un- 
necessary statement.  "You  astonish  me!  "  she  said.  "  I  have 
never  dreamed  of  such  a  thing.  I  have  noticed  that  he  likes  her 
society — and  this  morning,  for  the  first  time,  it  occurred  to  me 
that  he  showed  the  liking  very  plainly,  perhaps  a  little  too  plain- 
ly— but  it  did  not  occur  to  me  that  a  man  of  the  world  like  the 
Marquis  could  lose  his  heart  to  a  girl  like  Irene." 

"  Yet  it  is  with  just  such  a  girl  that  he  would  be  likely  to  lose 
his  heart,  if  he  lost  it  at  all,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  calmly.  "  She 
is  unlike  other  women  whom  he  has  known,  and  she  has  the 
charm,  not  only  of  her  character  and  of  her  rare  beauty,  but  of 
her  youth." 

"  I  think  it  possible  to  overrate  the  charm  of  youth,"  said  Mrs. 
Vance.  "  It  is  generally  such  a  crude  thing  that  it  could  not,  in 
itself,  attract  a  man  of  fastidious  taste." 

"  In  itself— no,"  answered  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  But  Irene's  is  the 
ideal  youth— the  youth  of  genius — full  of  bright  fancies  and  high 
aspirations.  And  she  has  proved  so  attractive  to  M.  de  Chateau- 
mesnil  because  he  is  a  man  of  noble  nature,  to  whom  these  fancies 
and  aspirations  are  like  the  sight  of  morning  to  a  poet." 

"  Then  you  really  believe  that  he  has  lost  his  heart  ?  " 

"  I  really  believe  it ;  and  it  increases  my  respect  for  him  to 
find  that  he  has  a  heart  to  lose." 

"  But,  my  dear  Sydney,  I  thought  that  he— that  you— that  he 
was  your  suitor." 

"  You  thought  right.  He  was — he  probably  still  is — my  suitor. 
But  he  has  never  professed  to  be  my  lover." 

"  And  yet  you  have  thought  of  marrying  him  ?  " 

"  Yes — I  have  thought  of  it.  But  more  on  his  account  than 
my  own — because  I  felt  that,  with  the  power  which  wealth  gives 
me,  I  might  be  of  use  to  him ;  and,  as  it  is,  I  am  of  use  to  no 
one."  The  last  words  were  uttered  a  little  sadly,  and  she  paused 
a  moment  before  adding :  "I  was  the  more  inclined  to  accept  his 
suit  because  he  made  no  protestation  of  devotion.  It  was  mariage 
de  convenance  that  he  offered,  and  mariage  de  convenance  that  I 
have  been  endeavoring  to  persuade  myself  to  accept." 

"Then,"  said  Mrs.  Vance,  with  energy,  "I  am  glad  that  he 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  415 

has  fallen  in  love  with  Irene !  I  am  old-fashioned  enough  to  hold 
such  marriages  to  be  abominable.  And  for  you,  Sydney,  you — " 

"  I,  who  once  had  different  dreams,  you  mean  ?  "  said  the  other, 
with  a  faint  smile.  "  Ah,  it  does  not  require  many  years  of  life 
to  show  one  that  such  dreams  are  best  put  away.  The  choice 
rests  between  that  and  being  deceived  to  the  end.  I  preferred 
the  first — and  so  I  felt  that  I  might  make  up  my  mind  to  marry  a 
man  who  was  indifferent  to  me  ;  who  belongs  to  a  world  which 
regards  marriage  as  something  with  which  sentiment  has  little  to 
do.  But  I  can  not  marry  a  man  who,  whether  he  knows  it  or 
not,  is  in  love  with  some  one  else." 

"  I  should  think  not,  indeed !  "  said  Mrs.  Vance,  in  a  tone  of 
indignation.  "  But  M.  de  Chateaumesnil  has  acted  very  badly  in 
fulling  in  love  with  some  one  else  while  filling  the  position  of 
your  suitor." 

Mrs.  Falconer  smiled.  "I  do  not  lay  claim  to  many  virtues," 
she  said,  "  but  one  which  I  hope  I  do  possess  is  a  sense  of  justice. 
I  can  not  blame  M.  de  Chateaumesnil  for  what  I  am  sure  has  over- 
taken him  in  his  own  despite.  He  has  nothing  to  gain  and  much 
to  lose  by  such  a  passion." 

"  Most  women  in  your  place  would  blame  him,  nevertheless," 
said  Mrs.  Vance,  "  and  not  only  him  but  IrSne." 

Sydney  looked  surprised.  "  Could  any  one  possibly  be  un- 
reasonable enough  to  attach  blame  to  Irene  ?  "  she  asked. 

Mrs.  Vance  rose  suddenly,  went  over  and  kissed  her. 

"  I  don't  know  how  much  justice  you  can  lay  claim  to,"  she 
said.  "  But  I  do  know  that  you  are  the  most  generous-hearted 
woman  in  the  world.  Say  what  you  please,  there  are  few  women 
who  would  not  feel  it  hard  to  find  a  rival  in  a  girl  to  whom — " 

"So  much  the  worse  for  most  women,  then!"  interrupted 
Mrs.  Falconer,  who  had  a  great  objection  to  what  she  knew  was 
coming— an  allusion  to  her  kindness.  "And  'rival'  is  an  in- 
correct word.  One  can  not  have  a  rival  when  there  is  no  rivalry. 
Now,  there  is  not  a  man  on  earth  whom  I  would  condescend  to 
rivalry  about.  If  a  man  offers  his  allegiance  to  me — whatever 
its  quality  or  degree — it  must  be  absolute.  If  it  wavers,  he  may 
go." 

"  But  you  could  not  feel  that  if  he  had  won  your  heart." 


416  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"  I  should  feel  it  if  he  had  won  my  heart  as  completely  as  ever 
heart  was  won.  If  it  were  in  my  power  to  retain  a  wavering 
allegiance,  I  should  scorn  to  make  an  effort  to  do  so." 

"Ah,"  said  Mrs.  Vance,  with  a  sigh,  "you  have  a  haughty 
spirit.  I  am  afraid  you  will  never  find  a  heart  that  satisfies  you." 

"Then  I  can  do  without  it,"  was  the  quiet  answer.  "There 
are  other  things  in  life  worth  living  for,  and  in  the  end  more  satis- 
fying. There  are  few  hearts  worth  possessing — and  fewer  still 
worth  holding.  But,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  there  is  no  ques- 
tion of  M.  de  Chateaumesnil's  heart.  It  has  never  been  offered 
to  me.  All  that  now  remains  for  me  to  do  is  to  decline  his 
hand." 

Mrs.  Vance's  face  fell.  It  was  evident  that,  despite  her  hasty 
assertions  of  gladness  a  moment  hack,  she  was  disappointed. 

"  It  is  a  pity,"  she  murmured.  "  If  you  feel  in  this  way  about 
hearts— if  you  are  really  indifferent  to  love — it  would  have  been 
a  marriage  that  would  suit  you." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  smiling  slightly.  ':  I  should  have 
made  a  very  charming  Marquise  de  Chateaumesnil,  and  had  the 
pleasure  of  gratifying  all  my  friends  besides.  But  that  is  over ; 
and  the  best  thing  now  is  to  end  the  matter  as  soon  as  possible." 

The  last  words  had  hardly  left  her  lips  when  Antonio  appeared 
with  a  card,  which  he  presented  to  her.  She  glanced  at  it,  then 
held  it  out  to  her  aunt. 

"  A  singular  coincidence,  is  it  not  ?  "  she  said.  "  Le  Marquis 
de  Chateaumesnil  "  was  what  met  Mrs.  Vance's  eye.  She  sighed 
again,  with  a  sense 'of  regret,  and  also  of  slight  trepidation. 
"Shall  you  see  him ? "  she  asked. 

"  Of  course,"  answered  Mrs.  Falconer,  rising  as  she  spoke. 
"  It  is  what  I  desire." 

Mrs.  Vance's  trepidation  found  something  of  an  echo  in  the 
Marquis's  breast  as  he  stood  in  the  grand  sala  waiting  for  Mrs. 
Falconer.  It  is  doubtful  if  in  all  his  life  before  any  occasion  had 
found  him  with  so  little  inclination  for  what  lay  before  him.  But, 
after  parting  with  Irene  in  the  morning,  his  colloquy  with  himself 
had  been  short  and  sharp.  For  the  first  time  he  recognized  where 
he  stood — or,  at  least,  where  he  was  drifting— and  he  felt  that 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  417 

there  was  but  one  course  open  to  him.  That  was  to  ask  Mrs. 
Falconer's  answer  to  his  suit,  and,  if  she  accepted  him,  to  close 
his  eyes  to  the  fact  that  such  a  person  as  Irene  Lescar  existed  in 
the  world.  It  would  be  hard  ;  but  a  sense  of  honor  has  helped 
many  a  man  over  a  road  as  hard — and  the  Marquis  had  not  an  in- 
stant's doubt  where  honor  lay,  or  what  its  counsel  was. 

Naturally,  however,  the  prospect  of  such  a  struggle  was  not 
cheerful,  and  he  was  blaming  himself  for  having  been  persuaded 
by  his  cousin  to  place  himself  in  the  position  he  occupied,  as  he 
walked  to  and  fro  across  the  sola.  But  it  was  impossible  he  could 
have  foreseen,  or  could  even  have  imagined,  such  a  resurrection 
of  his  youth  as  this.  A  few  months  before,  anything  would  have 
seemed  to  him  more  probable  than  that  he  could  ever  know  again 
the  passion  which  contains  in  itself  the  very  essence  of  youth, 
lie  might  appreciate,  he  might  admire,  he  might  offer  the  most 
sincere  homage,  but  (he  would  have  thought)  the  capability  of 
ideal  feeling,  the  spell  of  illusion,  had  for  ever  departed.  And 
now — 

He  found  himself  suddenly  pausing  before  a  new  addition  to 
the  works  of  art  which  filled  the  apartment.  It  was  a  copy  in 
marble  of  Erne's  rilieto.  Thrown  out  by  the  sweeping  folds  of  a 
rich  curtain  of  bronze-green  velvet  behind  it,  the  beauty  of  the 
sculpture  was  striking,  and  the  likeness  not  less  so.  The  noble 
brow,  the  fine  spiritual  lines  of  the  face,  the  exquisitely  curved  lips, 
were  Irene's  own — and  hers,  also,  the  classic  grace  infused  into 
every  line.  It  might  have  been  some  freshly  disinterred  fragment 
of  antique  art — a  Greek  dream  of  "violet-crowned  Sappho" — so 
closely  did  the  type  and  spirit  approach  that  of  antique  ideals. 

The  Marquis  stood  as  if  fascinated.  It  was  the  head  of  a  Muse ; 
but  he  knew  that  it  was  also  the  head  of  one  who  could  be  touched 
by  the  simplest  as  well  as  by  the  loftiest  things,  whom  imagina- 
tion had  not  misled  nor  intellect  hardened,  and  whose  brilliant 
powers  were  less  striking  than  the  sympathy  which  leaped  like 
flame  in  response  to  every  noble  thought  or  heroic  memory.  And 
while  he  stood,  recalling  the  tones  of  the  voice  which  had  sounded 
in  his  ears  that  morning  on  the  Janiculum,  and  in  the  church  of 
Santa  Cecilia,  he  did  not  perceive  the  figure  which  came  down 
the  suite  of  apartments  behind  him,  nor  hear  the  step  which  ap- 


418  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

preached  his  side.  It  was  not  until  Mrs.  Falconer  spoke  that  he 
was  aware  of  her  presence. 

"  An  admirable  likeness,  M.  le  Marquis — is  it  not  ?  " 

"It  is  perfect,"  he  replied,  taming  around,  "and  a  very  strik- 
ing piece  of  sculpture  besides.  Can  it  possibly  be  Mr.  Erne's 
work?" 

"  Yes,  it  is  his,"  she  answered.  "  I  think  it  very  remarkable 
for  so  young  a  sculptor — and  one  who  is  more  dilettante  than 
artist.  But  there  may  be  an  explanation  of  his  success  in  the 
fact  that  he  found  in  the  face  an  inspiration  as  well  as  a  model." 

"Ah!  "  said  the  Marquis.  "Such  a  face  might  well  prove  an 
inspiration  to  an  artist." 

"  And  even  to  those  who  are  not  artists,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer. 
"  I  am  never  surprised  by  any  degree  of  admiration  for  Irdne — I 
admire  her  so  enthusiastically  myself.  Therefore  you  may  imag- 
ine that  I  am  delighted  to  have  this  likeness  in  the  form  that  her 
likeness  ought  to  take.  That  head  seems  made  for  marble." 

The  Marquis  replied  that  he  could  imagine  it ;  but,  naturally, 
Irene's  beauty  was  a  subject  on  which  he  did  not  care  to  dilate. 
He  had  come  for  quite  another  purpose,  and  he  felt  as  if  a  malig- 
nant fate  had  put  her  sculptured  presentment  before  him  and 
made  it  the  opening  topic  of  conversation.  As  Mrs.  Falconer 
sat  down,  he  turned  from  the  marble  and  placed  his  chair  so  as 
to  leave  it  behind  him.  With  that  haunting  face  before  his  eyes 
he  would  have  found  it  difficult  to  utter  what  he  was  determined 
should  be  uttered. 

The  savoir-faire  of  the  man  of  the  world  came  to  his  assist- 
ance, however,  and  his  manner  was  altogether  perfect  as  he  re- 
called to  Mrs.  Falconer  her  promise  to  consider  his  suit,  and 
begged  for  her  answer. 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment — not  with  the  confused  silence 
on  which  a  suitor  might  found  hope,  but  with  the  calm  silence  of 
deliberation.  Then  she  looked  at  him  with  an  expression  which 
he  did  not  understand. 

"  You  have  been  very  patient,"  she  said,  gravely,  "  and  I  do 
not  ask  you  to  pardon  the  length  of  time  I  have  taken  for  consid- 
eration, because  we  are  agreed  that  marriage  is  a  very  serious 
affair,  and  because  this  delay  has  served  the  purpose  for  which  I 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  419 

wished  it.  If  I  had  answered  you  when  yon  did  me  the  honor  of 
offering  me  your  hand,  I  should  have  felt,  whatever  my  answer, 
many  doubts.  Delay  has  solved  those  doubts.  I  can  now  answer 
you  decidedly." 

She  paused — and  the  Marquis  felt  as  a  man  does  who  braces 
himself  to  receive  the  sentence  of  a  court.  But  in  the  tension  of 
suspense  he  forgot  that  some  expression  of  hope  or  eagerness 
might  have  been  expected  from  him.  The  slender,  nervous  hand 
tightened  on  the  rim  of  the  bat  he  was  holding,  the  dark  eyes  re- 
garded her  steadily — that  was  all. 

She  smiled  a  little,  and  went  on — her  calm  voice  unshaken  in 
a  single  tone : 

"  I  think  I  told  you  that  I  was  tempted  by  what  you  offered — 
not  so  much  by  your  rank,  though  I  am  not  foolish  enough  to  un- 
dervalue its  great  distinction  and  advantage,  as  by  the  opportunity 
to  aid  in  noble  ends,  to  make  the  wealth  with  which  I  am  bur- 
dened of  use  in  the  highest  manner,  and  to  find  an  outlet  for  my 
sympathy,  a  field  for  my  ambition.  All  this  you  offered  me  in 
offering  me  your  hand.  But  there  is  something  else  that  ought 
to  be  concerned  in  marriage  which  you  did  not  offer — that  is, 
your  heart." 

Her  clear  glance  was  searching  him  through  as  she  uttered  the 
last  words,  and  she  could  see  how  great  was  his  surprise  at  the 
altogether  unlooked-for  conclusion.  But,  although  surprised,  he 
was  not  discomposed. 

"  In  offering  you  my  hand,"  he  said,  "  I  was  also  offering  you 
the  most  sincere  homage  of  my  heart — that  homage  of  admiration 
and  respect  which  in  France  we  hold  to  be  the  best  foundation 
for  married  happiness.  It  does  not  take  wings  like  the  wild  pas- 
sion on  which  no  wise  man  would  desire  to  build  his  life." 

"I  said  that  to  myself,"  she  answered,  "and  though  I  was 
trained  in  a  different  school — one  which  holds  love  to  be  the  only 
true  consecration  of  marriage — I  was  able  to  recognize  the  prac- 
tical wisdom  of  the  basis  of  which  you  speak.  And  I  felt  the 
more  inclined  to  it  because  love  has  only  entered  my  life  to  pain 
and  cheat  me.  I  thought  that,  if  you  did  not  offer  me  your  heart, 
it  was  because  you  had  exhausted  the  power  of  passionate  feeling, 
and  were  too  honest  to  simulate  it.  I  believed  that  what  you  did 


420  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

offer — honor,  respect,  admiration — was,  at  least,  the  best  which 
you  had.  Was  I  right  in  believing  that  ? " 

"  You  were  right,"  he  replied.  "  I  believed  then — I  believe 
still — that  the  tribute  of  a  man's  dispassionate  judgment  is  worth 
more  than  the  emotion  (generally  founded  upon  illusion)  of  his 
heart." 

"  It  may  be,"  she  said,  "  but  believe  me,  it  is  a  doctrine  that 
will  never  plead  your  cause  with  a  woman.  I  might  have  listened 
to  it — for,  as  I  have  said,  my  experience  of  love  has  been  very  bit- 
ter— but  it  would  surely  in  the  end  have  been  to  your  and  to  my 
lasting  regret.  That,  however,  is  not  the  point.  The  point  is, 
can  you  give  me  the  same  assurance  now  ? — can  you  tell  me  to- 
day, M.  le  Marquis,  that  you  offer  me  your  best  ?  " 

There  was  no  indignation  in  the  voice,  no  anger  in  the  violet 
eyes — only  a  ring  of  challenge  in  the  first,  a  proud  light  in  the 
last.  It  was  a  challenge  which  M.  de  Chateaumesnil  found  it  diffi- 
cult to  meet.  He  had  not  anticipated  this,  and  he  was  forced  to 
hesitate  before  replying.  Then  he  said,  gravely: 

"  I  should  not  be  here  if  I  could  not  still  offer  you  what  I  be- 
lieve to  be  best — the  tribute  of  my  judgment,  the  admiration  of 
my  mind,  the  homage  of  my  taste." 

"  But  not  the  love  of  your  heart,"  she  said,  "  and  I — being 
only  a  woman — hold  that  best.  Yet  I  grant  that  one  must  not 
ask  more  than  a  man  can  give ;  and  if  you  were  incapable  of  giv- 
ing it,  I  might  be  satisfied  with  the  tribute  of  your  judgment  and 
the  homage  of  your  taste.  But  you  are  not  incapable.  I  have 
read  your  heart  for  some  time — and,  if  you  do  not  know  what 
image  it  holds,  I  will  tell  you." 

He  looked  at  her — startled  somewhat,  puzzled  more.  It  was 
a  fair  face  which  confronted  him — fair  at  all  times,  but  just  now 
particularly  charming  from  its  animation.  The  proud  light  was 
still  in  the  eyes,  but  the  lips  were  smiling.  As  he  did  not  reply, 
she  lifted  her  hand  and  pointed  to  the  marble  behind  him. 

"  It  is  that,"  she  said. 

"  I  suppose  that  you  allude  to  my  admiration  for  Mademoi- 
selle Lescar,"  he  said,  after  a  moment;  "but  have  you  not  leaped 
to  a  hasty  conclusion  in  imagining  that  what  I  feel  for  her  must 
be  love?  I  acknowledge  that  she  is  singularly  attractive,  that 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  421 

she  has  stirred  my  fancy  as  it  has  not  been  stirred  for  many  a  day 
— but  I  know  that  fancy  forms  no  staple  of  life ;  and  you  know 
that  one  is  often  attracted — even  fascinated — by  rare  and  brilliant 
people,  whom  it  does  not  therefore  follow  that  one  loves." 

She  regarded  him  steadily  before  replying.  Then  she  said : 
"And  is  that  what  you  are  telling  yourself — that  you  are  attracted, 
that  you  are  fascinated,  but  that  you  do  not  love?  I  can  only  say 
that  such  subtilty  is  too  fine  for  me.  What  I  have  seen  in  your 
eyes  when  you  looked  at  her,  what  I  have  heard  in  your  voice 
when  you  spoke  to  her,  was  either  love  or  the  most  exact  of  coun- 
terfeits. And  you  mistake  when  you  say  that  I  have  leaped  to 
this  conclusion.  I  was  determined  not  to  act  hastily — I  have 
waited,  I  have  observed — closely  observed.  Even  in  my  thoughts 
I  would  not  do  you  injustice — though,  understand,  that  I  do  not 
blame  you  in  the  least.  I  am  sure  that  this  fascination  has  over- 
taken you  against  your  will,  in  despite  of  your  judgment." 

"  Yon  are  as  wise  as  you  are  kind,"  he  said.  "  It  is  true.  To- 
day for^the  first  time  I  have  recognized  its  power,  and  the  sharp- 
est sting  was  in  the  thought  of  apparent  disloyalty  to  you." 

"  Therefore,  a  sentiment  of  honor  brought  you  here  at  once," 
she  said.  "I  appreciate  that.  But  I  am  too  proud — I  hope  also 
too  wise — to  take  your  name  and  rank  when  the  heart  which  did 
not  waken  for  me  has  wakened  for  another.  I  am  glad  that  the 
recognition  of  this  was  neither  a  shock  nor  a  pain  to  me.  I  am 
glad  also — very  glad — that  in  declining  the  honor  of  your  hand  I 
do  not  wound  your  heart.  "We  have  both  been  on  the  brink  of  a 
great  mistake.  Let  us  be  grateful  that  we  have  not  made  it." 

"  For  myself  I  can  not  think  that  it  would  have  been  a  mis- 
take," he  said,  touched  exceedingly  by  the  sweetness  of  her  voice 
and  smile.  "  But  I  have  no  alternative  save  to  bow  to  your  de- 
cision." 

"  Believe  me,  it  is  best,"  she  said.  "  You  have  learned  that 
the  heart  which  you  fancied  dead  is  not  dead — /have  learned 
that  I  dare  not  make  a  manage  de  contenance.  So  let  us  part — 
friends." 

"Always  friends,  I  trust,"  he  said.  Then  he  rose,  lifted  the 
hand  which  she  extended  to  his  lips,  and  left  the  room. 

Mrs.  Falconer  remained  standing  where  he  left  her,  gazing 


422  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

fixedly  at  the  serene  grace  of  the  sculptured  face  before  her.  She 
saw  as  in  a  vision  all  that  her  life  might  have  heen  had  that  face 
not  crossed  her  path.  The  high  rank,  the  nohle  old  name,  the 
personal  charm  and  brilliant  powers  of  the  Marquis  had  never 
appealed  to  her  imagination  with  such  a  sense  of  attraction  as 
now  when  she  had  renounced  them  and  all  that  they  put  within 
her  reach.  There  flashed  across  her  mind  the  thought,  "  What  if 
I  had  listened  to  Mr.  Stanhope's  warning  that  day  at  Versailles !  " 
Was  it,  indeed,  an  evil  fate  that  she  had  brought  under  her  roof— 
a  fate  to  stand  between  her  and  the  realization  of  all  that  her  am- 
bition had  dreamed  ?  She  had  hardly  asked  the  question  when  a 
revulsion  of  feeling  came.  "I  am  free,"  she  said  aloud  with  an 
exultant  accent.  Then  she  walked  tip  to  the  rilievo  and  left  a 
kiss  on  the  marble  brow. 


CHAPTER  Y. 

"AND  so,  mon  ami,  you  see  that  the  matter  is  over,"  said  the 
Marquis. 

He  spoke  with  quiet  philosophy  ;  but  Stanhope,  to  whom  the 
words  were  addressed,  frowned. 

"I  see,"  he  replied,  "that  you  left  Mrs.  Falconer  no  alterna- 
tive but  to  act  as  she  has  done.  But  whether  it  was  consistent 
with  a  fine  sense  of  honor  to  offer  your  hand  to  one  woman  and 
then  let  your  fancy  wander  to  another,  I  leave  you  to  determine." 

There  was  a  pause.  Stanhope  was  aware  that  he  had  spoken 
severely ;  but  the  same  mingled  and  inconsistent  feelings  which 
had  made  him  once  before  arraign  the  Marquis  for  admiring  Irene 
more  than  Mrs.  Falconer,  dictated  his  speech.  There  is  a  jeal- 
ousy for,  as  well  as  of,  a  person  beloved,  and  it  was  that  jealousy 
which  he  felt.  He  was  relieved  by  the  result  of  the  Marquis's 
suit;  and  yet  he  was  conscious  of  a  sense  of  indignant  anger  that 
Mrs.  Falconer  should  have  been,  as  it  were,  overshadowed  and  set 
aside  by  a  girl  who  seemed  made  to  bewitch  every  man  but  him- 
self. 

"I  do  not  think,"  said  M.  de  Ohateaumesnil,  after  a  moment, 
"  that  I  have  been  guilty  of  anything  which  the  finest  sense  of 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  423 

honor  could  condemn.  When  I  offered  my  hand  to  Mrs.  Falcon- 
er, it  was  as  clearly  understood  by  her  as  by  myself  that  I  offered 
it  in  the  sense  of  mariage  de  convenance.  The  heart  being  no 
factor  in  the  affair,  she  could  not  have  complained  of  its  disloy- 
alty, however  willful  such  disloyalty  had  been.  But,  in  truth, 
nothing  could  be  less  a  matter  of  will  than  the  feeling  which  I 
entertain  for  Mademoiselle  Lescar.  Mrs.  Falconer  herself,  with 
a  justice  and  reason  rare  in  my  experience  of  women,  recognized 
this.  It  is  an  attraction  which  has  deepened  to  a  fascination." 

"I  confess,"  said  Stanhope,  "that  I  have  little  sympathy  with 
that  old  excuse  of  misguided  passion,  that  it  was  not  a  matter  of 
will.  What  is  will  given  us  for  but  to  choose  between  good  and 
evil?  " 

"True,"  said  the  Marquis.  "But  you  must  have  your  good 
and  your  evil,  and  the  will  must  be  roused  to  resist  the  last.  Now 
you  can  not  possibly  define  my  feeling  for  Mademoiselle  Lescar 
in  that  way.  I  grant  that  I  should  have  resisted  such  an  attrac- 
tion if  I  had  at  all  suspected  its  nature.  But  I  did  not  suspect  it. 
This  exquisite  girl  was  to  me  like  a  beautiful,  poetic  vision,  rather 
than  a  woman  to  inspire  love.  I  did  not  realize  that  passion  may 
be  stronger  when  it  allies  itself  to  the  noblest  emotions,  than 
when  it  is  simply  a  matter  of  fancy  and  the  senses." 

"And  yet,"  said  Stanhope,  "I  should  have  thought  that  a 
man  so  well  versed  in  affairs  of  the  heart  as  yourself  would  have 
known  where  he  stood." 

"It  was  because  I  was  so  familiar  with  the  signs  of  ordinary 
passion  that  I  did  not  know,"  replied  the  Marquis.  "This 
morning  for  the  first  time  the  knowledge  flashed  upon  me.  I 
met  Mademoiselle  Lescar  by  accident  as  I  was  returning  from  a 
ride  in  the  garden  of  the  Pamfili-Doria.  She  was  standing  on  the 
terrace  of  San  Pietro  in  Montorio,  and  in  the  delight  which  her 
presence  gave  me  I  recognized  the  existence  of  love.  When  I 
parted  with  her,  I  said  to  myself,  'What  remains  to  be  done?' 
And  it  did  not  require  a  moment's  reflection  to  decide  that  I 
would  go  to  Mrs.  Falconer,  I  would  obtain  her  answer  to  my 
suit,  and  if  she  accepted  me  I  would  see  no  more  of  Mademoiselle 
Lescar.  I  knew  that  I  could  trust  my  will  in  such  a  case." 

"Fortunately,  you  are  not  called  upon  to  exert  it,"  said  Stan- 


424:  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

hope,  dryly.  "  You  knew  little  of  Mrs.  Falconer,  or  you  would  not 
have  imagined  for  a  moment  that  if  you  had  been  a  royal  duke 
she  would  have  accepted  you  under  such  circumstances." 

"It  never  occurred  to  me  that  she  had  penetrated  a  secret 
which  was  a  new  discovery  to  myself." 

"  Who  can  blind  a  woman  where  love  is  concerned  ?  She  has 
an  instinct  like  the  magnetic  needle." 

"Eh  Uen,  it  is  better  so,"  said  the  other,  calmly.  "  She  is  a 
woman  whom  any  man  might  regret  to  lose ;  but  she  is  also  a 
woman  who  could  not  have  been  happy  without  more  than  I  was 
able  to  give.  She  fancies  that  she  is  done  with  passion  because 
her  heart  has  never  recovered  from  the  bitter  disappointment  of 
her  marriage ;  but  this  is  a  mistake.  She  is  capable  of,  and  she 
could  not  be  satisfied  without,  assured  affection." 

There  was  another  pause,  for  Stanhope  was  not  inclined  to 
discuss  Mrs.  Falconer's  character.  He  had  entirely  lost  confidence 
in  his  own  power  of  judging  it,  and  he  had  no  reliance  on  that  of 
the  Marquis.  Both,  therefore,  walked  on  silently  for  some  time. 
They  had  met  at  the  foot  of  the  Trinita  de  Monti  steps,  and  the 
Marquis  saying  to  Stanhope,  "  I  have  something  to  tell  you,"  they 
turned  and  passed  together  along  the  Via  Babuino,  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Piazza  del  Popolo.  They  were  now  entering  the 
Piazza,  with  its  obelisk  and  fountains,  its  radiating  streets  and 
twin  churches.  On  one  side,  carriages  and  pedestrians  were 
streaming  along  the  winding  road  which  leads  to  the  top  of  the 
Pincio;  other  equipages  were  passing  through  the  Porta  del 
Popolo,  to  and  from  the  Villa  Borghese.  By  mutual  but  silent 
consent,  Stanhope  and  the  Marquis  crossed  the  square,  passed  out 
of  the  gate,  and  entered  that  fairy-land,  which  it  is  the  happy 
heritage  of  one  man  to  possess,  yet  which,  with  a  generosity  in 
which  the  Koman  nobles  excel  all  others  in  the  world,  he  throws 
open  to  the  free  enjoyment  of  every  one.  After  her  popes,  it  is 
difficult  to  say  what  Eome  does  not  owe  to  her  princes,  in  whose 
beautiful  gardens  the  humblest  may  wander,  and  in  whose  noble 
galleries  of  art  the  poorest  student  can  study  without  price.  It 
will  be  the  privilege  of  these  men  to  preserve  for  us  all  that  can 
be  preserved  from  the  present  reign  of  misrule,  which  is  making 
such  barbarous  havoc  of  the  Eome  that  saint  and  scholar,  anti- 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  425 

quary  and  poet  have  known  and  loved  for  ages,  have  so  pondered 
over  and  so  written  upon.  Says  a  writer,*  whom  no  one  will 
accuse  of  undue  sympathy  for  the  dispossessed  power,  "Should 
the  present  state  of  things  continue  much  longer,  and  especially 
should  Signer  Kosa  remain  in  power,  the  whole  heauty  of  Rome 
will  have  disappeared,  except  that  which  the  princes  guard  in 
their  villas,  and  that  which  the  everlasting  hills  and  the  glowing 
Campagna  can  never  fail  to  display." 

Whatever  else  of  antiquity  and  beauty,  then,  may  disappear, 
another  generation  can  at  least  hope  to  behold  the  enchanted 
glades  of  the  Borghese  Villa  as  we  behold  them  to-day— a  picture 
of  sylvan  loveliness  which  no  pleasure-ground  in  the  world  can 
equal,  for  the  most  beautiful  park-scenery  elsewhere  lacks  the 
classic  charm  which  is  here — the  glorious  old  ilex-trees  that  in 
venerable  repose  spread  their  great  branches  over  the  turf,  the 
noble  stone-pines  that  rise  high  in  upper  air,  the  avenues  of 
cypresses,  the  softly-swelling  lawns  carpeted  in  spring  with  mul- 
titudes of  wild  flowers,  the  vistas  filled  with  golden  light,  the 
flowery  dells  where  great  trees  fling  their  shadows  and  fountains 
flash  into  fern-clad  basins,  and  the  graceful  statues  and  columns, 
the  antique  altars  and  tombs — many  of  them  half-buried  in  verd- 
ure— which  everywhere  meet  the  eye.  Well  might  Madame  de 
Stael  say,  "  La  mythologie  des  anciens  y  semble  ranime'e.  Les 
naiades  sont  placets  sur  le  bord  des  ondes,  les  nymphes  dans  les 
bois  dignes  d'elles,  les  tombeaux  sous  les  ombrages  £lys6ens ;  la 
statue  d'Esculape  est  au  milieu  d'une  He ;  celle  de  V6nus  semble 
sortir  des  ondes;  Ovide et  Virgile  pourraient  se  promener  dans  ce 
beau  lieu ;  et  se  croire  encore  au  si£cle  d' Auguste."  It  is  indeed 
a  scene  in  which  fancy  can  find  everything  to  aid  its  wildest  play, 
its  most  exquisite  dreams.  As  we  wander  down  the  beautiful 
vistas  and  see  on  each  hand  woodland  paths  leading  into  still 
lovelier  seclusions,  where  the  forms  of  nymphs  and  goddesses 
gleam,  we  feel  as  if  our  careless  feet  had  passed  into  the  golden 
age,  and  as  if  all  the  sweet  myths  of  classic  lore  were  starting  to 
life  around  us. 

Leaving  the  wide  carriage-road  and  the  more  frequented 
paths,  M.  de  Chateaumesnil  and  Stanhope  followed  one  of  tho 
*  Augustus  J.  C.  Hare. 


426  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

many  ways  that  lead  into  the  heart  of  woodland  greenness — a 
world  of  beauty.  They  paused  in  a  glade  where  a  group  of  pict- 
uresque ilexes  made  a  study  for  a  painter,  and  near  by,  partly 
concealed  by  embowering  foliage,  stood  a  gray  altar  with  half- 
effaced  inscription  to  Pan,  while  a  statue,  fallen  from  its  pedestal, 
lay  prone  upon  tbe  turf.  The  Marquis  sat  down  on  the  empty 
pedestal  as  Stanhope,  abruptly  resuming  their  late  topic  of  con- 
versation, said : 

"  And  what  do  you  mean  to  do  now  ?  " 

The  other  lightly  shrugged  bis  shoulders.  "Why  should  I  do 
anything?"  he  asked.  "I  am  not  heart-broken;  I  am  not  even 
disappointed,  and  I  enjoy  life  here.  Voild  tout!" 

"But  you  forget,"  said  Stanhope,  after  a  minute,  "that  if 
enjoying  life — which,  by-the-by,  is  something  new  for  one  who  a 
little  time  ago  only  tolerated  it — means  devoting  yourself  to  the 
society  of  Irene,  I,  as  her  guardian,  must  have  a  word  to  say  to 
that." 

"I  do  not  think  of  devoting  myself  to  her  society,"  replied 
the  Marquis,  "  for  the  reason  that  whatever  other  mistakes  I  have 
made  or  may  yet  make  with  regard  to  myself,  I  am  at  least  not 
likely  to  be  mistaken  in  this — that  the  time  for  loving  like  a  boy 
has  passed  with  me.  But  her  society  affords  me  pleasure,  from 
which  I  can  not  see  that  I  need  debar  myself.  Her  golden  calm 
is  absolutely  unbroken,  and  you  may  be  sure  that  I  shall  not 
break  it." 

"Intentionally  I  do  not  suppose  that  you  would,"  said  Stan- 
hope; "  but  unintentionally  you  may.  The  betrayal  of  your  feel- 
ing will  come  without  your  intention,  perhaps  without  your 
knowledge.  And  I  need  hardly  tell  you,  who  have  won  so  many 
women's  hearts,  that  you  are  well  fitted  to  win  the  heart  of  an 
imaginative  girl  like  Ir&ne.  Therefore  knowing  that  nothing 
could  be  further  from  your  conception  of  the  possible  than  mar- 
riage with  one  who  is  without  family  or  fortune,  I  feel  that  I 
should  fail  in  my  duty  to  her  if  I  did  not  say  positively  that  such 
intercourse  can  not  be  permitted." 

M.  de  Chateaumesnil's  face  changed,  and  with  an  accent  of 
haughtiness  he  said : 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  can  not  trust  my  word?  " 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  427 

"I mean,"  Stanhope  answered,  coolly,  "that  I  trust  my  own 
observation  and  knowledge  of  the  human  heart  rather  than  any 
man's  rash  word.  '  He  who  loves  danger  shall  perish  in  it.'  He 
•who  courts  the  force  of  temptation,  confident  of  his  power  to 
resist,  is  the  man  who  will  fall.  Moreover,  you  forget  one  point. 
Yon  speak  of  yourself — you  can  not  speak  for  IrSne." 

A  moment's  silence  followed.  The  Marquis  was  evidently 
struggling  with  himself;  at  last  he  said  abruptly: 

u  Who  is  she?  I  asked  you  the  question  once  before,  and  you 
evaded  it.  But  now  I  think  yon  will  acknowledge  that  I  have  a 
claim  to  be  answered.  She  has  told  me  that  she  is  not  American. 
Of  what  country  is  she,  then ;  and,  if  she  is  of  no  family,  how  is  it 
that  she  possesses  such  a  look  of  distinction?  " 

"Ah!"  said  Stanhope.  Leaning  his  back  against  the  altar 
of  Pan,  he  drew  forth  a  cigar-case  which  he  offered  to  the  other, 
who  declined  it  by  a  gesture.  Then  he  took  out  and  lighted  a 
cigar  for  himself  before  he  answered. 

"  It  is  a  long  story,"  he  said ;  "  but,  since  you  wish  to  hear  it, 
there  is  no  reason  why  I  should  decline  to  tell  it.  Indeed,  it  is 
likely  that  every  one  who  knows  Irene,  or  is  interested  in  her, 
will  hear  it  soon.  One  good  feature  of  that,"  he  added,  medita- 
tively, "  will  be  that  I  shall  no  longer  have  to  play  raconteur.'1'1 

So,  after  sending  out  upon  the  golden  air  some  light-blue 
wreaths  of  smoke,  he  began  again  the  story  which  Waldegrave 
had  heard  a  few  days  before.  The  Marquis  listened  attentively, 
his  dark,  brilliant  eyes  fastened  eagerly  on  the  narrator's  face,  and 
when  it  was  ended  he  said : 

"  I  am  not  surprised.  I  have  recognized  from  the  first  that 
Mademoiselle  Lescar  was  not  of  ordinary  birth,  and  also  that  the 
shadow  of  some  unusual  fate  had  fallen  upon  her.  And  this  is  the 
explanation!— this  the  knowledge  of  sorrow  and  wrong  which 
I  have  seen  in  her  eyes  and  heard  in  her  voice !  "  Then,  after  a 
pause,  he  added:  "No  one  who  is  acquainted  with  the  character 
of  Prince  Waldegrave  could  be  astonished  at  his  part  of  the  story; 
but  I  confess  I  am  astonished  that  you  should  have  permitted 
Count  Waldegrave  to  know  her." 

"The  decision  of  that  matter  was  fortunately  not  left  to  me," 
answered  Stanhope.  "I  say  fortunately,  because  I  should  have 


428  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

decided  against  the  acquaintance;    and,  as   events  have  lately 
proved,  it  may  be  the  means  of  restoring  Irene  to  her  rightful 
place  in  the  world!  " 
lag  "  How  ?  "  asked  the  Marquis,  quickly. 

"I  felt  bound  to  tell  the  story  to  Count  Waldegrave,"  Stan- 
hope replied,  "seeing  that  he,  like  yourself,  was  yielding  to  the 
attraction  which  she  possesses  in  such  remarkable  degree.  I 
meant  it  as  a  warning ;  but  he  received  it  as  intelligence  which 
brought  within  the  limit  of  possibility  what  had  before  seemed 
beyond  it.  He  at  once  declared  his  intention  of  offering  her  the 
name,  the  rank,  the  position,  of  which  her  mother  was  unjustly 
deprived.  But,  before  doing  so,  he  has  gone  to  obtain,  if  possible, 
Prince  Waldegrave's  sanction  of  his  suit.  There  is  no  reason  now 
why  he  should  not  present  her  to  the  world  as  his  daughter,  and 
Count  Waldegrave  hopes  that  he  may  do  so." 

The  Marquis  looked  grave ;  he  also  turned  a  little  pale. 

"  And  she  ? "  he  asked.     "  What  does  she  say  to  this  ?  " 

"  She  has  heard  nothing  of  it.  By  Count  Waldegrave's  special 
request,  she  has  not  been  told  of  his  resolution  or  his  mission." 

"  What  do  you  think  her  answer  will  be  when  she  does  hear  ?  " 

It  was  now  Stanhope's  turn  to  lift  his  shoulders.  "Who  is  it 
can  read  a  woman?  "  he  said.  "  So  far  as  I  can  read  Irene,  I  do 
not  think  that  she  will  accept  what  he  offers,  or  that  she  will 
meet  any  advances  from  her  father.  She  is  passionately  alive  to 
the  sense  of  her  mother's  wrong — passionately  full  of  resentment 
toward  the  author  of  that  wrong.  But  she  belongs  to  an  impres- 
sionable sex,  and  she  has  an  imaginative  temperament.  Nothing, 
therefore,  can  be  predicted  of  her  with  certainty.  If  she  were 
like  other  women,  however,  I  should  consider  the  end  quite  cer- 
tain, for  such  a  proof  of  devotion  as  Count  Waldegrave's  might 
touch  any  woman's  heart." 

The  Marquis  rose  from  his  pedestal  and  took  a  turn  across  the 
turf.  It  might  be,  he  thought,  that  one  so  quickly  thrilled  by 
anything  noble,  as  Irene  always  was,  would  be  touched  by  the 
chivalry  of  Count  Waldegrave,  by  his  taking  upon  himself  the 
part  of  champion,  the  duty  of  atonement.  Before  his  mental 
vision  rose  the  face  that  had  been  with  him  that  morning  on  the 
terrace  of  San  Pietro  and  by  the  shrine  of  Santa  Cecilia,  that  had 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  429 

looked  at  him  from  Erne's  marble  in  Mrs.  Falconer's  salon.  To 
him  as  to  Waldegrave  tho  moment  of  possibility  had  come :  he 
could  not  let  that  face  pass  out  of  his  life  without  an  effort  to 
retain  it.  He  turned  abruptly  in  his  walk  and  paused  before 
Stanhope. 

"Do  you  think  that  my  chance  of  success  would  be  better 
than  Count  Waldegrave's  ?  "  he  asked. 

Stanhope,  who  had  not  expected  this,  regarded  him  with  sur- 
prise for  a  moment  before  answering.  Then  he  said,  slowly : 

"  But  what  becomes  of  your  opinion  that  ideal  sentiment  is 
not  a  good  foundation  for  marriage  ?  " 

"  It  goes  the  way  of  many  another  opinion.  I  am  sure  that 
in  this  case  it  would  be  the  best  foundation." 

"You  have  also  said  repeatedly  that  you  could  not  marry 
without  fortune.  Irene,  remember,  has  none — that  is,  none  ac- 
cording to  your  standard." 

"  To  be  a  poor  nobleman  is  not  agreeable,"  said  the  Marquis, 
calmly.  "  It  is  mortifying  and  crippling  in  many  ways — especially 
if  one  has  an  ambition  to  enter  public  life.  But,  after  all,  I  am 
not  ruined.  If  I  live  quietly,  the  revenues  of  Chateaumesnil  suf- 
fice to  maintain  the  dignity  of  a  seigneur.  Fortune,  then,  is  not 
essential.  But  good  birth  is.  I  hope  that  Prince  Waldegrave 
will  acknowledge  his  daughter,  because  I  could  not  give  my  name 
to  one  on  whom  even  the  shadow  of  a  stain  rested." 

"  Prince  Waldegrave's  acknowledgment  can  not  alter  facts," 
said  Stanhope,  "  and  you,  who  as  a  Catholic  are  bound  to  believe 
in  the  absolute  indissolubility  of  marriage,  certainly  can  not  feel 
that  any  stain  rests  on  his  daughter." 

"  None  in  reality  ;  but  we  have  to  consider  the  opinion  of  the 
W0rld — and  for  that  reason  I  desire  his  acknowledgment.  Be- 
yond that  I  should  agree  with  her  in  neither  asking  nor  accepting 
anything." 

"  Well,"  said  Stanhope,  after  a  pause,  "  this  is  a  change  in 
affairs !  A  few  hours  ago  you  were  Mrs.  Falconer's  suitor :  now 
yon  are  Irene's.  Does  it  not  strike  you  that  such  an  abrupt 
change  of  allegiance  will  place  you  in  rather  an  awkward  posi- 
tion ? " 

"Not  at  all,"  answered  the  other,  quietly.     "Why  should  it? 


430  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

Mrs.  Falconer  fully  comprehends  the  motives  that  made  me  her 
suitor.  She  will  also  comprehend  those  which  make  me  Made- 
moiselle Lescar's." 

"  And  when  do  you  intend  to  offer  yourself — at  once  ?  " 

"ISTo,"  answered  the  Marquis,  "for  she  is  not  in  the  least  pre- 
pared. The  man  who  proposes  to  a  woman  when  she  is  not 
expecting  his  suit  rushes  upon  certain  rejection — unless  the 
woman  is  influenced  by  considerations  that  would  not  influence 
Mademoiselle  Lescar.1" 

"  True.  But  remember  that  Count  Waldegrave  will  return  in 
a  few  days  to  offer  himself." 

"I  have  little  fear  of  the  result.  I  understand  now  what  I 
have  seen  more  than  once  in  her  eyes  when  he  approached  her. 
An  ordinary  woman  would  accept  him.  She  is  not  an  ordinary 
woman — she  will  refuse  him." 

"  I  think  so,"  said  Stanhope. 

The  sun  had  now  left  the  glade  where  they  stood;  its  last 
rays  were  gilding  the  tops  of  the  tall  pines  and  pointing  the  giant 
cypresses  with  flame.  Even  in  spring  it  is  not  safe  to  linger  in 
these  lovely  shades  at  this  hour,  for  malaria  is  inhaled  with  every 
breath;  and  the  two  men  turned  to  go.  As  they  walked  slowly 
back  along  the  woodland  vista  which  led  them  there,  the  Marquis 
said : 

"  It  is  certainly  a  strange  caprice  of  Fate  !  Had  it  been  fore- 
told me,  I  should  not  have  found  it  credible.  I  could  not  have 
conceived  that  a  grande  passion  would  enter  my  life  again,  to  dis- 
turb and  derange  it,  to  alter  my  plans  and  cause  me  to  lose  what- 
ever character  for  wisdom  I  may  possess  in  the  eyes  of  my 
friends.  But  there  are  compensations.  A  little  while  ago,  as 
you  remarked,  I  only  tolerated  life  ;  ennui  of  the  most  hopeless 
description  was  closing  in  upon  me.  Now  there  is  a  change. 
Feelings  and  aspirations  that  I  had  almost  forgotten — dreams  that 
I  thought  gone  with  my  youth — seem  to  awaken  by  contact  with 
this  fresh  and  beautiful  nature.  "When  I  am  near  it,  I  might 
fancy  myself  five-and-twenty  again." 

"A  very  undesirable  fancy,  in  my  opinion,"  said  Stanhope. 
"  I  should  be  sorry,  even  in  feeling,  to  turn  the  clock  of  time 
back  from  five-and-thirty  to  five-and-twenty." 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  431 

"Ah,"  said  the  Marquis,  "that  is  because  you  have  retained 
all  that  is  best  of  youth,  and  lost  only  its  undesirable  qualities. 
Life  is  still  full  of  interest  and  hope  to  you,  for  you  have  not 
burned  out  its  best  fires.  But  for  me,  weary  of  pleasure,  debarred 
from  the  career  for  which  nature  intended  me,  I  had  fallen  into  a 
state  out  of  which  this  new  feeling  has  come  to  rouse  me,  to  give 
zest  and  meaning  to  life  again." 

"What  I  fail  to  understand,"  said  Stanhope,  "is  why  Mrs. 
Falconer  could  not  have  done  all  this  for  you." 

The  other  laughed.  "I  should  not  have  thought,"  he  said, 
"that  you  knew  so  little  of  the  human  heart.  Why  does  one 
person  touch  it  and  another  not?  There  you  have  one  of  the 
mysteries  of  our  being.  Yet  in  this  case  it  seems  to  me  that  the 
explanation  is  plain.  Mrs.  Falconer,  graceful,  charming,  lovely  as 
she  is,  belongs  to  the  class  of  women  of  the  world  whom  I  know 
well.  But  Mademoiselle  Lescar  was  a  new  type  to  me,  and  not 
only  a  new  type,  but  a  revelation.  I  have  known  many  femmes 
<Fesprit,  but  I  have  never  before  known  a  creature  at  once  so 
intellectual,  so  poetic,  and  so  simple — with  a  nature  that  responds 
so  quickly  to  every  noble  emotion." 

"It  does  not  respond  to  one,"  said  Stanhope,  dryly.  "  She  is 
implacable  toward  her  father." 

"And  yet,"  said  the  Marquis,  "that  is  a  consequence  of  the 
very  thing  of  which  I  speak.  The  nature  which  responds  quickly 
to  nobleness,  revolts  equally  from  baseness.  And,  when  this 
baseness  has  struck  both  affection  and  pride,  it  is  not  wonderful 
that  passion  should  be  in  arms  against  it." 

"I  think,"  said  Stanhope,  "that,  if  you  assure  her  of  your 
sympathy  on  this  point,  it  will  go  further  than  any  other  means 
you  could  devise  to  win  her  heart." 

"  She  would  be  sure  of  my  fullest  sympathy,"  said  the  Mar- 
quis ;  "  yet  that  would  not  prevent  my  seeing  that  if  she  wishes 
to  rise  higher  she  must  forgive  the  injury,  because  only  by  that 
step  can  she  rise  from  natural  to  supernatural  nobleness;  and 
because,  after  all,  an  act  of  baseness  injures  no  one  so  much  as 
the  person  guilty  of  it." 


432  HEART  OF  STEEL. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

IT  seemed  to  Waldegrave  that  the  journey  from  Nice  to  Rome 
was  thrice  as  long  as  it  had  ever  been  before,  though  he  traveled 
without  stopping,  rushing  with  all  the  speed  of  steam  down  the 
beautiful  Riviera,  emerging  from  dark  tunnels  for  brief  glimpses 
of  lovely  bays,  with  picturesque  fishing  villages,  bold  olive-clad 
heights  on  one  side,  on  the  other  a  marvelous  sea  flecked  with 
zones  of  color,  "the  peacock's  neck  in  hue,"  and  dotted  with 
russet  sails;  past  Mentone  and  Spezzia,  past  Genoa  in  her  pride 
and  beauty,  past  Pisa  and  Leghorn,  till,  leaving  Civita  Vecchia,  the 
train  sped  across  the  wide  Oampagna  toward  Rome. 

As  he  neared  the  city,  some  words  of  Irene's  recurred  to  him. 
"Were  you  not  glad,"  she  said,  "to  come  back  to  the  solemn 
tawny  walls,  to  the  Campagna  and  the  broken  aqueducts,  even 
from  that  paradise  by  the  sea?"  He  could  hear  her  voice — 
the  thrilling,  pathetic  voice  which  he  knew  so  well — asking  the 
question ;  and  his  heart  answered  that  he  was  glad  with  an  in- 
finite gladness.  Glancing  out  of  the  carriage-window,  he  saw  the 
Campagna  spreading  afar  under  the  dim  light  of  the  stars,  like  a 
vision  of  a  boundless  waste;  then  some  giant  arches  loomed 
through  the  darkness,  then  came  the  shadow  of  a  mighty  wall. 
The  train  rushed  through :  he  was  again  in  Rome. 

It  was  hard  to  decide  to  do  nothing  that  night.  But,  since  it 
was  already  ten  o'clock,  he  curbed  his  impatience  and  allowed  his 
servant  to  tell  the  coachman  to  drive  home.  Before  they  had 
gone  far,  however,  he  countermanded  the  order.  "  Drive  to  the 
H6tel  Europa,"  he  said.  It  had  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  he 
might  leave  a  card  to  inform  Stanhope  of  his  arrival,  and  make  an 
appointment  for  the  next  day. 

But,  as  the  carriage  drew  up  before  the  hotel,  who  should 
appear,  passing  under  the  portone,  but  Stanhope  himself!  He  had 
been  to  Mrs.  Falconer's;  but  since  it  was  her  reception  evening, 
and  her  rooms  were  full,  he  left  early.  Society  had  of  late  lost  its 
charm  for  him.  He  found  himself  strangely  absent  and  distrait. 
It  was  the  old  story :  when  the  heart  ardently  desires  the  com- 
panionship of  one  person,  all  others  weary  and  annoy.  It  is  part 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  433 

of  that  mystery  and  madness  called  love,  which  makes  lovers,  for 
a  time  at  least,  the  most  selfish  of  the  world's  inhabitants. 

"Waldegrave  descended  quickly  from  the  carriage  and  followed 
the  figure  as  it  entered  the  court.  The  sound  of  his  name  made 
Stauhope  pause  and  turn.  He  smiled  when  be  saw  who  it  was 
that  had  spoken. 

"  Ah,  M.  le  Comte,  so  you  are  back  in  Rome !  " 

"  I  have  just  arrived,"  Waldegrave  answered,  "  and  on  my  way 
from  the  railway-station  I  called  to  leave  my  card,  and  beg  you  to 
see  me  in  the  morning.  But,  since  I  am  fortunate  enough  to  meet 
you  in  this  way,  perhaps  you  will  not  object  to  hearing  the  result 
of  my  journey  now." 

"I  shall  be  delighted  to  do  so.  You  will  come  to  my  apart- 
ment?" 

"For  a  few  minutes— yes." 

It  was  a  pleasant  suite  of  rooms  to  which  Waldegrave  found 
himself  conducted,  and  the  small  salon,  with  its  litter  of  books 
and  papers,  had  more  the  air  of  the  study  of  a  man  of  letters 
than  of  the  drawing-room  of  a  man  of  society.  Stanhope  drew 
an  easy-chair  into  the  circle  of  shaded  lamp-light  shed  from 
the  writing  table,  and  then  crossing  the  floor  laid  his  hand  on  a 
bell. 

"  Since  you  are  just  from  a  journey  yon  will  permit  me,  I 
hope,  to  order  some  refreshment  ?  "  he  said. 

But  Waldegrave  declined.  "  I  shall  not  remain  longer  than  a 
few  minutes,"  he  said.  "  What  I  have  to  tell  can  be  told  very 
briefly.  I  am  sure  you  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  I  return  not 
only  with  my  uncle's  sanction  of  my  wishes,  but  also  with  his 
offer  to  acknowledge,  receive,  and  fitly  provide  for  his  daughter. 
He  is  anxious  to  do  all  that  can  be  done  in  atonement  for  past 
injustice.  It  remains,  therefore,  now  only  to  determine  what 
steps  are  best  to  be  taken — in  other  words,  shall  Miss  Lescar  be 
informed  of  this  before  she  hears  of  my  hopes?  I  am  not  so 
eager  to  let  her  know  the  last  as  to  see  her  established  in  her 
rightful  place  in  the  world." 

Stanhope,  who  had  returned  to  the  table  which  occupied  the 
center  of  the  room,  thought  that  he  had  rarely  seen  a  face  more 
full  of  generous  feeling  than  that  which  looked  at  him.  He  was 
19 


434  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

the  more  touched  because  be  felt  sure  that  sharp  disappointment 
awaited  these  confident  anticipations. 

"Have  you  forgotten,"  he  said,  quietly,  "the  warning  which 
I  gave  you  on  our  way  from  Tivoli?  Do  you  not  remember  my 
having  told  you  then  that  Irene's  resentment  for  her  mother's 
wrong  is  so  deep  that  I  do  not  believe  she  will  accept  anything 
that  her  father  does  or  can  offer." 

"  But  the  deepest  resentment  must  surely  be  disarmed  by  re- 
gret and  atonement,"  said  "Waldegrave.  "  I  can  not  believe  that 
she  will  prove  implacable  when  she  hears  that  her  father  is  will- 
ing to  make  every  reparation  in  his  power." 

"There  only  remains,  then,  to  put  the  matter  to  the  test," 
said  Stanhope.  "  I  sincerely  trust  that  your  opinion  may  prove 
correct ;  but  I  warn  you  again  that  mine  is  founded  on  a  longer 
and  better  knowledge  of  her  character  than  you  possess.  And  I 
do  not  trust  only  to  my  own  knowledge.  I  have  told  you  of  her 
mother's  anxiety  on  this  point.  It  was  so  great  that  with  her 
dying  breath  she  entreated  her  daughter  to  forgive  the  man  who 
had  injured  them  :  and  Irene  did  not — could  not — promise  to  do 
so.  Yet  her  devotion  to  her  mother  was  of  passionate  intensity. 
Judge,  therefore,  what  chance  you  have  to  obtain  that  forgive- 
ness." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  ;  then  Waldegrave  said,  gravely  : 

"  At  least  the  attempt  must  be  made — you  recognize  that?  " 

"  Yes,"  Stanhope  answered,  "  I  recognize  that  it  must  be  made. 
Since  the  father  wishes  to  do  justice,  no  one  would  have  a  right 
to  prevent  the  daughter  from  deciding  for  herself  whether  she 
will  accept  what  he  offers." 

"  Then,"  said  Waldegrave,  "  the  next  question  arises,  Who  shall 
convey  his  offer  to  her  ?  You  are  not  only  the  guardian  appointed 
by  her  mother,  but  you  have  a  knowledge  of  her  character,  as 
you  remarked,  which  I  do  not  possess ;  and  since  I  desire  above 
all  things  that  this  offer  shall  be  accepted,  whatever  may  be  her 
answer  to  my  own,  would  it  not  be  well  for  you  to  make  it  on 
behalf  of  Prince  Waldegrave  ?  " 

"  So  far  as  I  know  myself,"  Stanhope  answered,  "  I  have  never 
yet  shrunk  from  doing  anything  which  clearly  presented  itself 
to  me  in  the  light  of  a  duty— and  if  I  thought  this  a  duty  I  would 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  435 

do  what  you  propose,  even  though  quite  sure  it  would  serve  no 
possible  end :  for  I  have  no  knowledge  of  Irene's  character  which 
would  be  of  use  to  me  in  such  a  case.  But  apart  from  the  fact 
that  you,  being  the  bearer  of  the  offer,  ought  to  deliver  it,  there 
is  another  reason  why  I  should  be  sorry  to  take  your  place.  If  I 
did,  you  would  probably  never  again  see  Irene — never,  I  am  sure, 
with  her  consent — and  I  presume  that  you  wish  to  do  so." 

This  startled  Waldegrave.  "Is  it  possible,"  he  said,  "that 
you  really  fear  such  a  result  as  that? " 

"  I  do  not  fear,"  Stanhope  answered,  "  I  am  certain  of  it. 
When  she  heard  of  Prince  Waldegrave's  offer,  the  question  would 
at  once  follow,  '  How  did  he  come  to  make  this — he  who  never 
before  has  appeared  conscious  of  my  existence  ? '  Your  story 
would  then  have  to  be  told  —  and  I  am  not  only  sure  that 
you  could  tell  it  better  than  any  one  else  could  tell  it  for  you, 
but  I  am  also  sure  that  it  is  your  only  chance  to  obtain  a 
personal  hearing.  Do  not,  therefore,  throw  away  an  advantage 
which  is  always  great,  and  which  in  this  instance  is  your  only 
hope." 

"  Certainly  you  are  not  encouraging,"  said  Waldegrave.  "  But 
I  anticipated  difficulty,  and  I  am  not  easily  daunted  by  it.  For 
her  sake  as  well  as  my  own — indeed,  for  her  sake  more  than  my 
own — I  am  determined  to  succeed.  I  shall,  therefore,  take  the 
forlorn  hope  you  recommend.  I  shall  go  to  her  with  my  story 
and  her  father's  offer— and  I  shall  accept  no  refusal." 

"  That  plan  would  answer  very  well — you  would  be  quite  cer- 
tain of  success— with  many  women,"  Stanhope  answered.  "  But 
you  do  not  yet  know  Irene.  However,  I  will  say  no  more  to  dis- 
courage you.  Only  I  think  it  right  to  warn  you  that  you  have  a 
formidable  rival." 

For  the  first  time  Waldegrave  looked  alarmed. 

"  Who  ?  "  he  asked. 

"The  Marquis  de  Chateaumesnil,"  Stanhope  replied. 

"  You  astonish  me !  "  Waldegrave  said,  after  a  moment.  "  I 
have  been  under  the  impression  that  he  was  Mrs.  Falconer's  suitor." 

"  He  was — but  Mrs.  Falconer  herself  discovered  his  attraction 
toward  Irene.  The  result  is  a  formal  transfer  of  his  suit.  His 
name  and  rank  are  fully  worthy  of  Prince  Waldegrave's  daughter 


436  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

— and  he  only  asks  that  the  purity  of  her  birth  shall  he  acknowl- 
edged by  her  father." 

"  That  will  be  done  in  any  case,"  said  Waldegrave.  "  But  iny 
uncle  will  be  sorry — "  He  broke  off,  hesitated,  then,  with  au 
effort,  asked  :  "  And  she  ?  What  is  her  answer  ?  " 

"  She  has  given  none,  for  the  simple  reason  that  she  has  not 
yet  heard  of  his  intentions.  M.  de  Chateaumesnil,  aware  that  she 
has  only  thought  of  him  as  Mrs.  Falconer's  suitor,  wishes  to  efface 
that  impression  before  declaring  his  sentiments  toward  herself.  I 
think,  moreover,  that  ho  is  desirous  to  know  Prince  Waldegrave's 
decision." 

"  You  may  set  his  mind  at  rest  on  that  point,"  said  the  young 
Count,  rising.  "  Justice  will  be  done  in  any  case :  though  my 
uncle  will  be  sorely  disappointed  if  this  is  the  end.  .1  do  not 
speak  of  myself;  what  I  shall  feel  is  of  importance  only  to  myself. 
But  I  will  not  yield  without  an  effort.  Do  you  think  that  I  might 
hope  to  see  Mademoiselle  Lescar  to-morrow,  and  that  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner would  permit  me  to  see  her  alone  ? " 

"It  could  only  be  through  Mrs.  Falconer's  aid  and  arrange- 
ment that  you  would  be  able  to  do  so,"  answered  Stanhope.  "I 
am  sure  that,  if  appealed  to  on  the  subject,  IrSne  would  decline  to 
see  you ;  knowing,  or  at  least  suspecting  as  she  must,  that  you 
have  heard  the  truth  regarding  her.  I  will  see  Mrs.  Falconer 
to-morrow  morning,  and  will  let  yon  know  what  hour  she 
appoints  for  yon  to  come,  with  the  best  hope  of  finding  Irene 
alone." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  "Waldegravo.  "  I  shall,  then,  hope 
to  hear  from  you." 

And  with  this  understanding  they  parted. 

It  was  with  that  feeling  of  reliance  which  is  only  inspired  by  a 
few  people,  Avho,  in  the  offices  and  affairs  of  friendship,  have 
proved  themselves  altogether  steadfast  and  trustworthy,  that 
Stanhope  set  forth  the  next  morning  to  see  Mrs.  Falconer.  Al- 
though it  was  much  before  the  usual  hour  for  visitors,  he  had  no 
difficulty  in  obtaining  admittance,  nor  had  he  long  to  wait  for  her 
appearance. 

She  came  in,  looking  very  fresh  and  lovely  in  one  of  those 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  437 

charming  morning-robes  which.  Parisian  dress-makers  devise, 
where  apparent  simplicity  disguises  consummate  art. 

"  Have  you  come  to  apologize  for  disappearing  so  early  last 
night  ?  "  she  asked,  giving  him  her  hand.  "  It  was  very  discour- 
teous. You  did  not  even  bid  me  good-night,  but  when  I  looked 
around  for  you  I  found  you  gone." 

"I  did  not  think  you  would  miss  me,"  he  answered;  "but 
I  will  apologize  to  any  extent  that  you  demand.  By  leaving 
when  I  did,  however,  I  met  Count  Waldegrave,  who  had  just 
returned  from  Xice,  and  who  drove  from  the  station  to  my  hotel, 
arriving  there  at  the  same  tune  that  I  did.  He  intended  merely 
to  leave  his  card  and  make  an  appointment  for  to-day ;  but  since 
we  met  so  opportunely,  he  told  me  the  result  of  his  journey." 

"  And  what  was  it  ?  "  she  asked,  with  quick  interest. 

"  Prince  Waldegrave  gives  a  fatherly  benediction  to  the  pro- 
posed marriage,  and  is  ready  to  acknowledge  and  receive  his 
daughter." 

"  Can  it  be  possible?     It  is  more  than  I  dreamed  of!  " 

"It  is  much  more  than  I  expected,  and  proves  one  of  two 
things — either  that  Count  "Waldegrave  has  extraordinary  influ- 
ence over  his  uncle,  or  that  the  latter  is  not  insensible  to  remorse." 

"Probably  both  considerations  weighed  with  him.  He  is 
glad,  no  doubt,  to  gratify  his  nephew,  at  the  same  time  that  he 
does  tardy  justice  to  his  daughter.  But  to  be  allowed  to  atone 
for  wrong  committed  is  a  great  privilege ;  and  it  is  one  which  I 
do  not  think  Prince  Waldegrave  has  deserved." 

"I  am  afraid  that  will  be  Irene's  opinion,"  said  Stanhope; 
"but  1  did  not  think  that  it  would  be  yours." 

"  On  this  point  I  can  appreciate  her  feeling.  Shall  this  man, 
who  has  profited  by  wrong  and  gained  all  that  was  his  end,  now 
have  the  satisfaction  of  believing  that  he  has  made  full  amende?  " 

"He  can  never  make  full  amende"  said  Stanhope,  "for  the 
person  on  whom  chiefly  the  wrong  was  wrought  has  passed 
beyond  the  reach  of  reparation.  His  amende  at  the  utmost  will 
be  only  partial ;  and  if  he  is  indeed  anxious  to  atone,  it  would  be  a 
hard  and  ungenerous  spirit  which  refused  to  allow  him  to  do  so." 

"  No  doubt  you  are  right ;  yet  for  the  first  time  I  sympathize 
fully  with  Irene  on  this  subject.  I  find  myself  revolting  against 


438  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

her  accepting  anything  from  one  who  disowned  her  mother  and 
herself." 

"What  she  accepts,  however,  will  only  be  her  birthright. 
You  must  remember  that.  Remember,  too,  that  it  is  an  acknowl- 
edgment of  wrong  done  her  mother  as  well  as  herself.  And, 
then,  do  you  wholly  overlook  Count  Waldegrave?  Has  the 
romance  of  your  woman's  heart  no  plea  to  make  for  him  ?  " 

"None,"  she  answered.  "I  am  much  more  struck  with  the 
poetical  justice  of  his  loving  Irene  fruitlessly  than  of  her  bearing 
the  name  and  filling  the  place  from  which  her  mother  was  cast." 
Then  she  added,  with  a  smile :  "  I  am  the  advocate  of  M.  de  Cha- 
teaumesnil.  I  want  her  to  marry  him." 

Stanhope  regarded  her  silently  for  a  minute  before  he  said : 
"  I  confess  that  you  puzzle  me.  I  do  not  understand  you  at  all." 

"How  do  I  puzzle  you?  "  she  asked.  "What  is  it  that  you 
do  not  understand  ? " 

"  For  one  thing,  I  do  not  understand  why  you  wish  Irene  to 
marry  M.  de  Chateaumesnil." 

"  Tet  it  is  plain  enough.  He  offers  her  rank  as  high  if  not  as 
brilliant  as  Count  Waldegrave's,  and  an  older,  prouder  name.  I 
want  her  to  take  her  proper  place  in  the  world,  not  through  any 
grace  of  her  father,  but  through  the  love  of  a  man  who  is  her 
father's  equal.  Then,  there  are  several  reasons  why  I  think  she 
would  be  happier  with  the  Marquis  than  with  Count  Waldegrave. 
He  has  a  nature  much  more  sympathetic  with  her  own ;  they  are 
of  the  same  religious  faith,  and  I  think  that  he  would  appreciate 
her;  while  I  am  sure  she  would  prove  the  most  appreciative  com- 
panion to  him." 

"  Appreciative — yes.  But  not  a  companion  fitted  to  aid  his 
success  in  life.  She  is  too  ideal." 

"A  great  mistake  that.  An  ideal  nature  gives  the  spirit 
wings  over  the  rough  places  in  life,  which  must  be  traversed  in 
order  to  reach  high  ends.  Believe  me,  Irene  would  make  a  per- 
fect Marquise  de  Chateauraesnil.  The  Faubourg  itself  could  find 
no  flaw  in  her.  It  would  have  found  many  flaws  in  me." 

"How  can  you  speak  so  of  yourself?"  demanded  Stanhope, 
indignantly.  "  It  is  an  injustice  which  I  can  not  endure.  What  is 
this  girl  compared  to  you?  " 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  439 

"  Ask  M.  de  Chateaumesnil  that  question,"  she  said,  with  a 
slight  smile. 

"  M.  de  Chateaumesnil  is — a  fool !  "  cried  Stanhope,  who,  in 
excuse  for  this  outbreak,  it  may  be  said  was  really  provoked 
beyond  endurance.  "He  is  acting  without  sense  or  judgment." 

"On  the  contrary,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  quietly,  "he  is  acting 
with  both.  Certainly  the  man  is  a  fool  who  throws  away  his  life 
for  any  mere  sentimental  fancy.  But  the  deep,  or  rather  the  high, 
passion  which  springs  from  the  contact  of  a  thoroughly  sympa- 
thetic nature  is  a  different  thing.  The  wisest  man  can  prove  his 
wisdom  in  no  better  manner  than  by  following  that.  I  assure 
you  my  respect  for  M.  de  Chateaumesnil  is  increased  since  I  find 
him  capable  of  such  a  passion  and  willing  to  sacrifice  everything 
for  it." 

"He  will  sacrifice  much,"  said  Stanhope,  "unless  Irene  ac- 
cepts her  fathers  offer — which  Count  Waldegrave  declares  will 
hold  good  whether  she  accepts  him  or  not." 

"  Did  you  tell  him  of  the  intentions  of  the  Marquis  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  felt  bound  to  do  so.  I  told  him  that  the  Marquis 
only  asked  that  Prince  Waldegrave  should  acknowledge  his  daugh- 
ter, and  he  replied  that  T  might  set  his  mind  at  rest  on  that  point ; 
that  justice  would  be  done  in  any  case." 

"  It  is  very  noble  of  him  to  give  such  an  assurance." 

"I  think  you  will  be  struck  by  the  fact  that  he  looks  at  the 
matter  in  a  very  noble  way.  He  is  more  anxious  for  Irene  to 
be  restored  to  her  rightful  place  in  the  world,  the  possession  of 
her  birthright,  than  for  her  to  consent  to  marry  himself;  though 
no  doubt  he  thinks  that  the  last  would  eventually  follow  the 
first." 

"Did  he  seem  startled  to  hear  of  a  rival? " 

"  He  seemed  much  surprised,  especially  since,  like  every  one 
else,  he  considered  the  Marquis  your  suitor.  But  he  was  not 
daunted.  He  desires  to  plead  his  cause  at  once,  and  wishes 
to  know  whether  you  will  permit  him  to  see  Irene  alone 
to-day." 

Mrs.  Falconer  smiled.  "  The  difficulty  on  that  point  will  be 
with  Irene,"  she  said. 

"  So  I  told  him.    But  I  ventured  to  promise  that  you  would 


440  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

arrange  the  difficulty.     I  am  sure  that  you  will,  notwithstanding 
that  you  have  declared  yourself  on  the  side  of  the  Marquis." 

"  I  suppose  that  for  the  sake  of  fair  play  I  must.  But  it  will 
have  to  be  done  by  stratagem."  She  considered  for  a  moment. 
"  Tell  him  to  come  this  afternoon — about  three  o'clock.  I  will  go 
out,  giving  Antonio  strict  orders  that  no  one  is  to  be  admitted  but 
Count  "Waldegrave,  and  I  will  endeavor  to  arrange  that  Irene 
shall  be  found  here.  I  do  not  know  what  reason  I  shall  give  for 
begging  her  to  remain  in  the  drawing-room ;  but  necessity  is  the 
spur  of  invention.  Perhaps  I  might  tell  her  that  you  are  coming 
and  particularly  wish  to  see  her.  Do  you  think  it  likely  you  will 
look  in  this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  I  am  quite  sure  that  I  shall — after  Count  Waldegrave's  visit." 
"  That  will  do,  then.     She  will  be  angry,  I  fear,  when  she  dis- 
covers the  trap — mais  cela  ne  fait  rien  !    He  will  have  had  his 
chance." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  after  luncheon,  addressing 
IrSne  with  an  unblushing  countenance,  "I  am  obliged  to  go  out 
to  keep  an  engagement  made  with  Lady  Dorchester  last  night ; 
but  I  leave  you  in  possession  of  the  boudoir,  and  I  shall  tell 
Antonio  to  show  Mr.  Stanhope  in  here  when  he  comes." 

"Pray  do,"  said  Irene,  "though  I  hope  he  may  not  come;  for 
I  can  not  imagine  that  he  has  anything  of  importance  to  say  to 
me,  and  this  book  is  very  interesting." 

She  looked  up,  smiling  as  she  spoke,  with  an  unsuspiciousness 
which  gave  Mrs.  Falconer  something  of  the  feeling  of  a  conspir- 
ator. But  she  went  out,  dropping  behind  her  the  portiere  which 
screened  this  apartment  from  the  rest  of  the  long  suite.  Occupy- 
ing an  angle  of  the  building,  it  was  of  irregular  shape,  and  had  a 
charming  aspect.  The  soft  hangings  of  Persian  silk,  on  brass- 
tipped  lances  of  ebony,  were  of  the  most  harmoniously  mingled 
colors;  the  crystal  frames  of  Salviati's  mirrors  were  like  fairy- 
work;  two  or  three  beautiful  inlaid  cabinets  were  covered  with 
bric-d-brac ;  paintings  and  photographs  hung  on  the  walls,  lamps 
and  vases  from  ancient  Etruscan  models  were  scattered  on  brackets 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  441 

and  shelves;  from  one  corner  a  marble  Puck  seemed  starting  for- 
ward to  put  a  girdle  round  the  earth ;  in  another,  Hebe  stood, 
bearing  the  cup  of  the  gods.  There  were  luxurious  chairs,  a 
writing-table  furnished  with  all  appliances  for  correspondence, 
and  another  table  covered  with  the  latest  English  and  French 
publications.  Two  curtained  doors  led  from  the  apartment — one 
into  the  suite  of  reception-rooms,  the  other  into  Mrs.  Falconer's 
chamber. 

Left  alone  in  this  delightful  retreat,  half  buried  in  a  deep 
chair,  with  a  book  for  companion,  perfect  silence  reigning  around, 
and,  when  she  chose  to  lift  her  eyes,  a  view  of  towers  and  domes 
and  pines  to  be  seen  between  the  folds  of  filmy  muslin  which 
formed  the  inner  drapery  of  the  window,  Irene  felt  like  the 
philosopher  who  said,  "  When  I  open  a  noble  volume  I  say  to 
myself,  '  Now,  the  only  person  that  I  envy  is  he  who  is  reading  a 
better  book  than  this.1 "  There  was  pleasure  in  the  sense  of  safe 
seclusion,  and  she  read  with  that  enjoyment  which  only  an  ardent 
student  knows,  for  a  length  of  time  of  which  she  took  no  heed. 
She  was  at  length  roused  by  a  distant  but  well-known  sound — 
that  of  the  door-bell  of  the  apartment. 

"  Probably  that  is  Mr.  Stanhope,"  she  thought,  dropping  the 
book  into  her  lap.  And  then  it  occurred  to  her  to  wonder  again 
why  Stanhope  should  come  to  see  her.  He  very  seldom  did  so  in 
any  formal  manner.  If  he  had  anything  to  say  to  her,  it  was  said 
in  the  course  of  those  ordinary  and  quite  frequent  visits  which, 
she  knew,  were  primarily  intended  for  Mrs.  Falconer.  He  had 
been  in  the  house  that  morning — why  had  he  not  seen  her  then  ? 
why  make  this  second,  unusual  visit?  It  must  mean  something  of 
importance — yet  what  could  that  something  be  ?  An  instinct  that 
it  might  concern  "Waldegravo  suddenly  flashed  upon  her ;  and  at 
that  moment  Antonio  drew  back  the  portiere  and  announced 
Count  Waldegrave. 

Ir&ne  rose  to  her  feet— a  picture  of  astonishment.  Was  An- 
tonio mad?  That  was  her  first  thought.  Only  a  few  of  Mrs. 
Falconer's  most  intimate  friends  were  ever  admitted  to  this  apart- 
ment, and  then  only  by  the  special  order  of  its  mistress.  But  to 
introduce  a  comparative  stranger  here,  and  she  alone — Antonio 
received  a  glance  which  made  him  drop  the  portiere  and  hastily 


442  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

retire.  Ho  bad  obeyed  bis  mistress,  tbat  was  enougb  for  bim ; 
but  he  did  not  care  to  meet  the  signorina's  eyes  when  she  looked 
in  that  way.  The  signorina,  however,  bad  no  mind  to  accept  the 
situation  quietly. 

"Pardon,  M.  le  Comte,"  she  said,  as  Waldegrave  advanced, 
"  but  it  is  evident  that  the  servant  has  made  a  mistake.  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner is  not  at  home." 

"Pardon  me,  mademoiselle,"  "Waldegrave  answered,  "but  the 
servant  has  made  no  mistake.  I  asked  for  yourself."  Then, 
meeting  a  look  of  still  greater  surprise,  he  added :  "  I  should  not 
have  presumed  to  take  such  a  step  without  the  consent  of  your 
guardian.  But  it  is  with  his  permission  that  I  atn  here." 

"  I  do  not  recognize  his  right  to  give  such  a  permission,"  she 
said,  haughtily,  feeling  an  instant  conviction,  in  part  at  least,  of 
what  lay  before  her.  Evidently  "Waldegrave  had  heard  who  she 
was,  and  with  Stanhope's  consent  and  by  Mrs.  Falconer's  arrange- 
ment bad  come  to  speak  on  the  subject.  She  was  like  one  mailed 
in  steel  at  the  thought.  It  was  a  liberty  which  could  not  be  too 
severely  rebuked.  She  made  a  step  as  if  to  leave  the  room,  but 
Waldegrave  hastily  interposed. 

"  Whether  you  recognize  such  a  right  or  not,"  he  said,  "  I  beg 
you  to  remain — to  listen  to  me  1  I  have  nothing  to  say  tbat  can 
possibly  offend  you." 

"The  mere  fact  tbat  you  have  come  to  speak  to  me  in  this 
manner  offends  me,"  she  said.  "  Why  has  Mr.  Stanhope  vent- 
ured to  give  a  permission  which  does  not  enter  into  the  scope  of 
his  duties  at  all?" 

"  Because,"  Waldegrave  answered,  "  the  matter  upon  which  I 
have  come  is  of  such  importance  that  it  does  enter  into  the 
scope  of  his  duties  to  be  sure  that  it  is  properly  put  before 
you." 

She  threw  back  her  head  with  a  gesture  as  haughty  as  her 
tone.  "I  find  it  impossible,"  she  said,  "to  imagine  anything 
which  you  can  have  to  say  to  me  of  importance." 

"  Then  you  will  certainly  allow  me  to  tell  you  what  it  is,"  he 
said. 

The  gentleness,  the  entreaty  in  his  tone,  might  have  touched 
her,  if  at  tbat  moment  she  bad  been  capable  of  being  touched  by 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  443 

anything.  But  her  mood  was  entirely  resistant.  Again  she 
thought  of  escape,  but  Waldegrave  stood  immediately  between 
her  and  the  door  leading  to  Mrs.  Falconer's  apartment,  and  she 
could  not  make  an  undignified  attempt  to  pass  him.  But  she  did 
not  speak ;  only  her  silence  gave  him  leave  to  go  on : 

"I  am  sure,"  he  said,  after  a  moment,  "  that  I  need  not  recall 
to  your  memory  our  last  conversation  together,  or  how  you  then 
bade  me  listen  if  any  one  who  had  a  right  to  speak  for  you  came 
to  me.  A  few  hours  later,  one  who  certainly  possessed  that  right 
told  me  your  story,  and  in  giving  me  the  secret  of  your  birth  gave 
me  also  the  secret  of  all  that  had  puzzled  me  from  our  earliest 
acquaintance."  He  made  a  step  nearer,  and  held  out  his  hand, 
with  a  gesture  as  graceful  as  it  was  earnest.  "Will  you  not 
acknowledge  me  as  a  kinsman,"  he  said,  "  and  grant  me  a  kins- 
man's privilege  to  approach  you  ?  " 

She  did  not  notice  either  gesture  or  appeal.  Standing  with 
one  hand  on  the  back  of  the  chair  from  which  she  had  risen  at  his 
entrance,  she  regarded  him  with  a  face  that  might  have  been 
carved  in  marble  for  all  sign  of  softening  that  was  in  it,  and,  when 
she  spoke,  her  tones  were  clear  and  cold  as  ice. 

"  Since  you  recall  so  much  of  our  last  conversation,  you  must 
also  recollect  my  telling  you  that  after  you  had  heard  my  story  we 
should  not  meet  again.  If  I  had  known  that  Mr.  Stanhope  had 
told  it  to  you,  I  should  have  guarded  against  this  interview.  He 
has  uncandidly  betrayed  me  into  it ;  but  you  will,  I  trust,  believe 
me  when  I  say  that  you  have  made  a  mistake — that  there  is 
nothing  to  be  gained  by  any  allusion  to  a  subject  which  I  decline 
to  discuss." 

Waldegrave  felt  like  one  in  whose  face  a  door  is  shut.  Almost 
before  he  began,  she  had  made  it  difficult  for  him  to  utter  another 
word. 

"I  am  forced,"  he  said,  "  to  disregard  your  request,  because  I 
hope  there  may  be  much  to  be  gained  by  discussing  the  subject, 
and  especially  because  I  am  the  bearer  of  a  message  from  your 
father." 

If  her  face  had  been  haughty  before,  what  was  it  now  ?  It 
seemed  to  him  that  human  features  were  never  made  to  express 
more  perfectly  the  extreme  of  proud  anger. 


444  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"  Is  it  possible,"  she  said,  "  that  any  one  has  ventured  to 
approach  the  person  of  whom  you  speak  on  my  behalf  ?  " 

"  I  have  ventured  to  do  so,"  Waldegrave  answered.  "  As  soon 
as  I  heard  Mr.  Stanhope's  communication,  I  went  to  Nice — where 
Prince  Waldegrave  is  now  staying— and  laid  it  before  him,  to- 
gether with  some  wishes  of  my  own,  of  which  I  shall  speak  here- 
after. What  he  felt,  I  leave  you  to  judge  from  the  fact  that  I 
"return  empowered  to  offer  you  all  the  atonement  for  wrong 
which  it  is  in  his  power  to  make.  He  is  willing — nay,  anxious — 
to  acknowledge,  receive,  and  provide  for  you  as  his  daughter." 

"And  I,"  she  said,  "leave  you  to  judge  what  /feel,  when  I 
tell  you  that  there  is  not  wealth  enough  on  earth  to  tempt,  as 
there  is  not  power  enough  on  earth  to  force  me  to  accept  the 
least  or  the  greatest  thing  which  Prince  Waldegrave  can  offer!  " 

The  fiery  spirit,  which  her  listener  had  learned  to  know,  spoke 
in  her  voice  and  shone  in  her  glance  as  she  uttered  the  last  words, 
and  he  began  to  realize  the  truth  of  Stanhope's  warning.  But,  as 
he  had  said  of  himself,  he  was  not  easily  daunted ;  and  to  yield 
without  further  effort  was  impossible. 

"  It  can  not  be,"  he  said,  gravely,  "  that  this  is  your  answer  to 
one  who  acknowledges  that  he  committed  a  wrong,  and  desires  to 
repair  it.  Can  you,  who  find  in  your  soul  an  echo  for  every  noble 
feeling,  find  none  for  the  beauty  and  generosity  of  forgiveness? 
Do  you  think  that  you  have  a  right  to  refuse  atonement,  when  it 
is  offered  by  one  who  has,  at  least,  the  natural  claim  of  a  parent  ?  " 

"  It  would  have  been  better  if  you  had  left  that  unsaid,"  she 
replied ;  "  for  you  must  be  aware  that  no  plea  can  be  founded 
on  a  claim  which  has  been  renounced,  and  a  hundred  times  for- 
feited. 1  owe  no  filial  duty  to  the  man  who  flung  my  mother  and 
myself  out  of  the  path  of  his  ambition,  who  blasted  her  life  and 
darkened  all  of  mine!  It  is  no  mere  form  of  words  when  I  say 
that  were  I  starving  and  friendless,  as  I  might  have  been  for 
aught  that  he  has  known  or  cared,  I  should  still  fling  his  offer 
back  to  him  in  scorn — I  should  still  bid  you  tell  him  that  the 
name  which  he  took  from  my  mother  I  will  never  bear;  and  that 
when  he  can  call  Tier  from  the  grave  and  put  her  again  into  the 
place  from  which  he  cast  her,  he  may  talk  to  me  of  reparation — 
not  before ! " 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  445 

The  passion  within  her  had  slipped  its  leash,  and  vibrated  in 
every  tone  of  her  voice  as  she  spoke.  And  what  a  voice  it  was  to 
express  emotion !  Its  cadences  thrilled  Waldegrave  like  the  deep 
notes  of  a  violoncello.  And  as  he  looked  at  the  pale  face,  the 
shining  eyes,  he  felt  the  hopelessness  of  appeal.  "What  could 
move  this  spirit,  with  its  profound  sense  of  unalterable  wrong, 
and  its  hatred  and  disdain  of  the  wrong-doer?  It  was  only  the 
involuntary  expression  of  his  thoughts  which  made  him  say : 

44  But,  in  this  bitter  resentment,  you  are  stifling  and  belying 
the  better  part  of  your  nature." 

4'  So  far  from  that,"  she  said,  "  all  my  nature  finds  expression 
in  it,  all  my  pride  and  sense  of  outraged  justice,  all  my  love  for 
the  one  creature  I  have  ever  perfectly  loved,  all  my  scorn  for 
things  base  and  selfish.  Before  I  could  forgive  such  a  wrong,  I 
must  trample  upon  nature.  That,  divine  faith  bids  me  do ;  but  I 
have  not  yet  learned  to  do  it.  1  have  tried  to  say  in  my  heart  that 
I  forgive,  and  I  have  never  yet  for  one  moment  said  it.  I  will  tell 
you  why  I  tried.  It  was  because  with  her  last  breath  my  mother 
asked  me  to  do  so.  But,  when  her  image  rises  before  me,  when 
I  remember  all  the  sadness  of  her  life  and  death —  Ah!  why  do 
I  talk  of  this,  and  why  have  you  como  to  me  on  such  a  fruitless 
errand?" 

As  she  broke  off  in  this  manner,  there  was  for  the  first  time 
an  accent  of  pathos  in  her  voice,  and  her  eyes  were  full  of 
quickly  rising  tears,  which  quenched  their  indignant  fire.  Then 
Waldegrave  risked  all  on  a  last  desperate  cast. 

44 1  have  come,"  he  said,  '4  not  only  because  for  the  honor  of 
my  name  I  wish  that  justice  should  be  done  and  wrong  atoned 
for,  but  because  1  love  you — I  have  long  loved  you — and  I  would 
fain  cast  out  hatred  by  love." 

He  drew  nearer  to  her — there  was  now  only  the  chair  between 
them — and  went  on  eagerly :  44  Listen  to  me.  Do  not  let  me  plead 
in  vain,  since  it  is  for  you  that  I  plead,  as  well  as  for  myself  I 
Take  from  me,  if  you  will  not  take  from  your  father,  the  name 
and  place  which  is  your  right,  together  with  the  heart  which  has 
been  yours  since  I  saw  you  on  that  old  terrace,  where  you  were 
like  a  vision  out  of  a  dream  to  me.  I  love  you  with  a  passion 
against  which  I  struggled  vainly  before  I  knew  the  truth,  and 


446  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

when  I  knew  it  my  first  thought  was  one  of  intense  gladness. 
You  were  brought  near  to  me,  and  it  might  be  mine  to  atone  by 
a  life- time  of  honor  and  devotion  for  the  sadness  and  wrong  that 
had  overshadowed  your  youth.  Fling  away,  like  a  dark  memory, 
the  thought  of  that  past.  Put  your  hand  in  mine,  and  let  us  face 
the  sunlight  together — the  sunlight  of  love  and  youth,  and  hope 
and  divine  forgiveness !  My  beautiful  love,  with  your  poet  soul 
and  your  poet  eyes,  you  are  not  made  for  darkness,  but  for  light. 
Be  generous  —  let  me  have  the  happiness  of  pouring  it  over 
you." 

As  he  uttered  these  impassioned  sentences,  his  was  certainly  a 
voice  and  a  presence  to  thrill  any  woman's  heart.  His  face, 
usually  BO  cold,  was  vivid  with  feeling,  and  his  tones  were  full  of 
the  most  eager  entreaty.  He  might  have  stood  for  a  picture  of 
ardent  passion — passion  the  more  ardent,  because  not  wholly  in- 
tent on  selfish  ends.  It  was  as  he  had  said — he  was  pleading  for 
her,  as  well  as  for  his  own,  happiness. 

Perhaps  Irene  felt  this.  At  least  he  could  see  that  his  words 
moved  her — though  not  in  the  manner  he  desired.  The  hand, 
which  he  again  extended,  she  did  not  now  ignore,  but  she  shrank 
back  from  it. 

"  I  beg  you  to  say  no  more !  "  she  exclaimed,  in  a  quick  tone. 
"  "What  you  ask  is  impossible.  I  told  you  once  that  you  would 
have  to  be  made  over  again  before  we  could  be  friends.  I  tell  you 
now  that  /should  have  to  be  made  over  before  I  could  accept  your 
love.  But  you  have  a  noble  heart.  I  acknowledge  that,  and  I 
think  I  must  have  felt  it  all  the  time,  for,  although  your  name  had 
such  a  bitter  sound  in  my  ears,  I  could  not  hate  you — after  I  came 
to  know  you." 

"And  is  there  not  in  that,"  he  said,  eagerly,  "  a  foundation  to 
build  upon?  It  has  been  my  hope — the  only  hope  I  dared  in- 
dulge." 

"  No,"  she  answered,  "there  is  no  foundation  possible  between 
you  and  me.  It  would  be  easier  for  fire  and  water  to  blend.  And 
I  do  not  deserve  that  you  should  talk  of  loving  me.  For  I  have 
been  glad  to  think  that  you  might  love  me.  It  seemed  a  sort  of 
retribution." 

He  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  as  if  unable  to  comprehend. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  447 

Then  he  said,  "  Do  you  mean — can  you  mean  that  you  were  glad 
because  you  wished  to  give  me  pain?  " 

"I  did  not  wish  to  give  it,"  she  answered  ;  "but  I  was  glad  to 
think  that  you  should  suffer  it — through  me.  Does  this  seem  to 
you  a  distinction  without  a  difference  ?  Yet  it  was  very  plain  to 
me.  When  I  heard  that  you  wished  to  know  me,  I  said  to  myself: 
'I  have  done  nothing  to  bring  this  about — it  has  come  of  itself. 
But  if  he  loves  me  and  suffers  through  me,  I  shall  not  be  sorry.' 
But  now  " — her  voice  changed — "  I  am  sorry.  I  would  avoid 
paining  you  if  I  could." 

Silence  followed.  What  could  Waldegrave  answer?  He 
turned  and  walked  across  the  floor,  stood  for  a  moment  by  the 
window,  then  came  back,  with  a  face  different  from  that  of  the 
ardent  lover,  who  had  poured  out  his  heart  a  few  minutes  before. 
Now  it  was  pale,  quiet,  resolute. 

"  And  I,"  he  said,  pausing  before  her  again,  "  am  willing  to 
bear  this  or  any  other  pain,  if  by  means  of  it  I  can  at  last  win  the 
triumph  of  your  higher  self  over  the  bitterness  Vhich  drags  you 
down,  and  which  made  such  a  feeling  as  that  of  which  you  speak 
possible  to  you.  For,  what  stronger  proof  could  be  given  of  the 
lowering  nature  of  hatred  than  that  yon,  of  all  women — you,  who 
seem  made  to  inspire  noble  thoughts  in  all  who  approach  you — 
could  have  found  satisfaction  in  the  idea  of  giving  or  causing  pain ! 
Does  it  not  show  how  wise  and  tender  was  that  last  prayer  of  your 
mother,  which  you  disregard  ?  Does  it  not  make  you  feel  that  even 
in  you  there  are  possibilities  that  must  be  crushed,  or  they  will 
crush  all  that  forms  the  best  part  of  your  nature  ?  This  bitterness 
is  like  a  dark  shadow,  which  you  must  cast  off — and  again  I  say 
that  I  am  willing  to  suffer  any  pain  which  love  for  you  entails,  if 
it  enabled  me  to  contribute  in  the  least  to  the  final  victory  of 
your  true  self,  to  the  hour  when  yon  will  rise  high  enough  to 
see — " 

"  That  '  no  wrong  is  worth  resentment '  ? "  she  asked.  "  That 
was  my  mother's  saying.  But  my  mother  was  a  saint.  /  am 
Prince  Waldegrave's  daughter.  And  I  should  despise  myself  as 
worthy  to  be  so — as  capable,  as  he  was,  of  sacrificing  honor  to 
self-interest — if  I  could  take  anything  from  his  hand.  Let  this  be 
my  last  word." 


448  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"Nay,"  he  said,  "  it  is  impossible  that  I  can  accept  it  as  such. 
You  must  pause — you  must  think,  that  for  the  sake  of  others, 
since  no  one  in  the  world  stands  alone,  you  should  take  the  justice 
of  your  birthright.  It  is  only  justice." 

"  It  is  truly  only  justice,"  she  replied ;  "  but  is  given  or  with- 
held at  the  pleasure  of  a  man  to  whom  I  will  not  even  owe — 
justice.  And,  for  the  rest,  let  me  remind  you  that  I  do  stand 
alone — and  that  what  I  choose  to  be,  or  refuse  to  be,  concerns 
only  myself." 

"  Do  you  really  think  that  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Do  you  not  see  that 
it  concerns  others" — he  paused,  a  thought  of  the  Marquis  de  Cha- 
teaumesnil  flashed  on  him — "  chiefly  the  man  whom  you  will  love 
and  marry  ?  "  he  added. 

"  There  is  no  such  man,"  she  answered,  in  her  most  haughty 
tone.  "  How  could  there  be,  when  I  have  only  a  great  wrong  for 
inheritance?" 

"  Forgive  me,"  said  Waldegrave,  "  but  is  that  statement  worthy 
of  you,  when  you*  know  that  with  a  word  you  can  take  exactly  the 
place  in  the  world  which  you  would  have  filled  had  your  mother 
remained  Prince  Waldegrave's  wife  ?  " 

'•'•Had  she  remained — she  Aid  remain  his  wife — she  died  his 
wife  by  every  law  of  God  and  man !  "  cried  the  girl,  turning  on 
him  with  such  a  flash  of  passion  in  her  face  that  she  seemed  for 
the  moment  almost  transfigured.  "  And  there  you  touch  the  point 
which  makes  it  impossible  that  I  could  accept  his  offer,  even  if  I 
were  able  to  forget— to  forgive !  Would  such  an  offer  be  made  to 
me  if  my  mother  were  living  ?  You  know  that  it  would  not ! 
Therefore,  in  accepting  it,  in  entering  Prince  Waldegrave's  house, 
in  recognizing  as  his  wife  the  woman  who  is  there,  I  should 
accept  the  decree  which  drove  my  mother  from  her  place,  and  I 
should  take  my  right  from  her  death.  For  how  could  even  a 
subtle  diplomatist  in  the  same  breath  acknowledge  a  daughter 
and  disown  a  wife  ?  No ;  I  would  not  take  a  throne  at  such  a 
price ! " 

It  was  easy  to  see  that — to  read  it  in  every  line  of  the 
resolute  face,  and  in  the  flashing  glance  of  the  superb  eyes. 
"Good  Heaven!  what  a  likeness  to  her  father!"  Waldegrave 
thought,  recalling  a  day  when  he  had  seen  his  uncle  beard  a  par- 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  449 

liamentary  assembly  reluctant  to  do  his  will,  and  impose  that  will 
upon  them  by  the  magnetism  and  majesty  of  his  personal  author- 
ity. Just  such  a  will  was  arrayed  against  him  now,  and  the  young 
man  realized  that  his  words  were  like  water  poured  on  granite. 
Still  he  made  one  more  effort. 

"You  are  altogether  wrong  in  your  conclusion,"  he  said. 
"Do  you  not  see  that  the  acknowledgment  of  wrong  done  to 
your  mother  is  clearly  implied  in  what  is  offered  you?  " 

She  shook  her  head.  "  You  are  a  clever  advocate,"  she 
answered;  "but  you  can  not  blind  me  to  the  truth  which  my 
heart  feels  and  my  mind  perceives,  that  in  acting  as  you  propose, 
I  should  accept  and  condone  the  past.  That  I  will  never  do." 
Then,  after  a  moment's  pause — a  despairing  pause  on  Walde- 
grave's  part — she  added,  more  gently  :  "  Why  will  you  not  believe 
that  you  are  wasting  time  in  all  that  you  urge?  Why  will  you 
not  take  what  I  say  as  final  ?  It  is  final,  whether  you  believe  it 
or  not." 

"  I  shall  never  believe  it,"  he  answered.  "  We  have  both  the 
same  will — it  is  a  family  inheritance ;  but  in  this  contest  mine 
should  prove  strongest,  since  I  have  the  nobler  end  in  view.  At 
least  I  will  hope — and  you  will  allow  me  to  see  you  again  ?  " 

"  I  would  rather  not,"  she  answered.  "  Why  should  I  ?  There 
is  nothing  to  be  gained  by  it." 

"  There  may  be  something  to  be  gained  at  last.  Do  not  refuse 
to  me  a  privilege  which  your  merest  acquaintance  enjoys." 

"  You  are  not  a  mere  acquaintance,"  she  replied,  "  and  your 
presence  after  this  would  too  painfully  excite  me.  I  should  like 
to  go  away — far  away — where  there  would  be  nothing  to  remind 
me  of  the  wrong.  Then  I  might  at  last  reach  the  height  on  which 
my  mother  stood,  and  forgive  as  she  forgave.  It  is  the  only  hope. 
But  though  I  do  not  wish  to  see  you  again — ever  again — I  shall 
not  forget  that  you  are  kind  and  noble.  So — adieu." 

She  held  out  the  hand  she  had  never  before  given  him.  And 
he,  taking  it,  feeling  for  the  first  time  the  touch  of  her  fingers 
upon  his  own,  vowed  to  himself  that,  let  her  say  what  she  would, 
this  should  be  no  final  farewell.  Again  he  would  hold  that  small, 
flexible,  firm  hand,  with  its  skin  like  satin  and  its  rose-leaf  palm ; 
again  he  would  struggle  with  her,  until,  by  the  force  of  love,  her 


450  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

will  should  yield!  So  he  promised  himself;  but  he  saw  in  her 
pale  face  that  it  was  time  the  strain  of  the  interview  ended — and 
he  said: 

"I  will  leave  you  now  ;  but  I  do  not  accept  your  sentence  of 
banishment,  and  I  warn  you  that  you  could  not  go  so  far  that  I 
would  not  follow  and  find  you.  Remember  that  I  have  everything 
on  my  side — the  honor  of  our  common  name,  the  desire  of  your 
father  to  atone,  and  the  last  wish  of  your  mother.  Armed  with 
these  motives,  and  strong  in  the  love  which  desires  above  all 
things  that  you  should  do  that  which  is  worthy  of  you,  I  can  not 
despair !  You  must  see  at  last  what  is  truly  noble— and  seeing, 
you  will  follow  it." 

"  Do  not  hope  so,"  she  said.  "  Do  not  think  that  I  will  ever 
do  what  you  think  noble,  but  I  most  ignoble." 

He  smiled  a  little.  "  You  told  me  once  that  I  was  mistaken  in 
fancying  that  I  knew  you,"  he  said;  "but  I  am  still  presumptuous 
enough  to  think  that  I  know  you — better  perhaps  than  you  know 
yourself.  Time  will  show.  Meanwhile  let  me  echo  your  word- 
adieu." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"Waldegrave  left  Mrs.  Falconer's  apartment,  he  found 
that  a  carriage  was  drawn  up  at  the  foot  of  the  steps,  from  which 
two  ladies  had  alighted  and  were  in  the  act  of  ascending  the  stairs. 
As  he  met  them  and  moved  aside  slightly  to  allow  them  to  pass, 
one  of  them  paused  and  spoke  with  an  air  of  friendliness. 

"  How  do  you  do,  M.  le  Comte  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  have  not  had 
the  pleasure  of  meeting  you  before  since  I  have  been  in  Rome." 

"When  she  began  to  speak,  Waldegrave  had  no  idea  who  she 
was,  but  before  she  finished — so  quick  is  thought— he  remembered 
her  as  a  pretty  American  girl  whom  he  had  met  in  Nice. 

"I  was  not  aware  that  Miss  Dysart  was  in  Rome,"  he  said. 

"  I  have  been  here  two  weeks  with  my  friend  the  Baroness 
Bodenstein,"  she  replied.  "  But  this  is  my  first  glimpse  of  you, 
with  the  exception  of  one  afternoon,  when  I  saw  you  standing  by 
Mrs.  Falconer's  carriage  on  the  Pincio,"  she  added,  with  a  smile. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  451 

"  It  is  a  slight  coincidence  that  we  should  meet  now  at  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner's door." 

Waldegrave  gave  no  sign  of  recognizing  the  force  of  the  coin- 
cidence. "I  hope,"  he  said,  "  that  you  are  well." 

"  Quite  well— thanks." 

"And  that  you  find  Rome  as  pleasant  as  Nice." 

"I  find  it  very  pleasant,  but  less  gay  than  Nice." 

"Nice  is  Paris-sur-Mer,"  he  said,  smiling;  "you  can  not  ex- 
pect the  Eternal  City  to  bear  comparison  with  it  in  that  re- 
spect." 

"  Oh,  I  like  Rome  and  find  it  very  interesting,"  she  said, 
quickly.  "  I  was  sorry  not  to  appear  at  Mrs.  Falconer's  recep- 
tion last  night.  Her  evenings  are  always  particularly  agreeable. 
You  were  present,  of  course  ?  " 

"No,"  he  replied,  "I  was  not  present."  Then,  with  a  bow 
and  a  formal — "But  do  not  allow  me  to  detain  you  longer;  I 
shall  hope  to  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  again  " — he  passed 
on. 

It  was  with  a  heightened  color  and  an  expression  of  mingled 
vexation  and  mortification  that  Miss  Dysart  followed  her  friend 
who  had  discreetly  continued  her  upward  journey  to  the  landing- 
place. 

"  I  have  never  seen  a  man  more  changed,"  were  her  first 
words.  "  You  know  what  he  was  in  Nice.  He  is  odious  now — 
cold,  abrupt,  absolutely  rude." 

"  Indeed !  "  said  the  Baroness.  "  What  can  be  the  matter  ? 
Perhaps  he  was  preoccupied  in  some  way." 

"That  would  be  no  excuse  for  his  manner.  He  did  not  even 
ask  where  I  was  to  be  found,  or  give  the  least  sign  of  interest.  It 
is  not  possible  to  imagine  greater  indifference  than  he  displayed." 

"  Well,"  said  the  Baroness,  philosophically,  "  that  is  the  way 
of  men.  And  you  know  you  were  warned  that  this  Count  Walde- 
grave is  an  iceberg." 

"  He  was  not  an  iceberg  when  I  saw  him  before,"  said  Miss 
Dysart,  who,  like  most  women  of  her  class,  not  only  made  the  mis- 
take of  overrating  her  power  of  attraction,  but  also  very  much 
overrated  its  effect  as  apparent  on  others.  "Another  influence 
has  come  over  him.  Perhaps  it  is  that  of  this  girl  whom  they 


452  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

call  Miss  Lescar,  and  who  I  am  sure  he  does  not  know  to  be  his 
uncle's  daughter.  It  may  he  a  plan  of  Mrs.  Falconer's,  or  of  the 
girl's,  to  entangle  him  while  he  is  in  ignorance." 

"  Take  care !  "  said  the  Baroness,  with  a  warning  glance  at 
the  door  before  which  they  stood. 

Miss  Dysart  said  nothing  more,  but  she  extended  her  hand  and 
rang  the  bell  with  a  sharp  peal  that  brought  Antonio  with  unu- 
sual celerity.  When  he  opened  the  door,  however,  it  was  only  to 
inform  the  ladies  in  his  most  dignified  manner  that  Mrs.  Falconer 
was  not  at  home. 

They  exchanged  a  glance  ;  but  there  was  nothing  to  be  done, 
save  to  leave  their  cards  and  go  down  again  to  their  carriage.  But 
as  they  did  so,  Violet  said.:  "Count  Waldegrave  certainly  came 
from  that  apartment.  If  Mrs.  Falconer  is  really  not  at  home, 
whom  did  he  see?" 

"  He  may  have  been  told  what  we  were,"  suggested  the  Bar- 
oness. 

But  the  suggestion  did  not  please  Miss  Dysart.  "  He  had  the 
look  of  a  man  who  had  paid  a  visit,"  she  said,  though  she  did  not 
define  in  what  the  look  consisted.  "I  am  sure  he  had  been  ad- 
mitted. I  wish  "—she  hesitated — "  I  wish  that  Prince  Walde- 
grave knew  what  was  going  on!  " 

"Shall  we  go  to  thePincio?"  asked  the  Baroness,  who  did 
not  feel  interested  in  Prince  Waldegrave's  probable  sentiments. 

And  Violet  answered,  "  Yes— to  the  Pincio." 

Her  disappointment  had  left  no  apparent  trace  when  M.  de 
Chateaumesnil  saw  her  there  half  an  hour  later — radiant  and 
lovely.  She  had  always  rather  amused  him,  and  he  approached 
and  paid  his  respects  with  an  empressement  very  gratifying  to  her, 
who  always  calculated  subtly  the  effect  of  everything  in  a  social 
point  of  view.  From  this  point  of  view  nothing  could  be  more 
desirable  than  to  detain  the  Marquis  at  the  side  of  her  carriage  for 
some  time  ;  and  she  therefore  exerted  herself  to  be  as  entertain- 
ing as  possible.  A  sparkling  account  of  social  matters  at  Nice 
was  followed  by  comments  on  such  bits  of  Roman  gossip  as  had 
come  to  her  knowledge. 

"  I  was  sorry,"  she  said,  presently,  "  not  to  have  been  at  Mrs. 
Falconer's  last  night,  but  the  Baroness  and  myself  received  cards 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  453 

for  the  royal  ball.  I  presume  that  you  do  not  go  to  the  Quirinal, 
M.  le  Marquis  ?  " 

"Never,"  answered  the  Marquis.  "I  do  not  recognize  rob- 
bery as  justifiable  in  great  affairs  more  than  in  small  ones." 

"  Well,  I  have  an  easy  conscience,"  she  said,  smiling,  u  and  a 
royal  ball  is — a  royal  ball.  But  it  was  a  curious  mob  of  people.  I 
understand  that  it  is  always  the  case — and  that  if  one  wishes  to 
be  socially  recognized  in  Eome,  one  must  distinctly  '  cut '  the 
Quirinal — so  I  do  not  think  I  shall  go  to  another." 

"  That  depends,  of  course,"  said  the  Marquis,  "  upon  what  is 
your  definition  of  social  recognition.  The  Koman  nob*lity,  with 
few  exceptions,  hold  aloof  from  the  invading  government ;  but 
there  is  a  society  composed  of  government  officials  and  foreigners 
who  go  to  the  Quirinal." 

"  That  is  not  the  kind  of  society  I  care  for,"  she  said.  "  My 
ambition  is  always  for  the  best,  and  while  I  arn  in  Rome  I  mean 
emphatically  to  do  as  Romans  do — that  is,  range  myself  under  the 
standard  of  the  Vatican." 

The  Marquis  smiled.  "  You  are  frank  in  the  statement  of 
your  motives,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  frankness  is  my  chief  virtue,"  she  answered.  "  Have 
you  not  discovered  that  ?  However,  to  return  to  our  mutton,  I 
was  sorry  to  lose  Mrs.  Falconer's  evening,  and  we  have  just  been 
so  unfortunate  as  not  to  find  her  at  home.  Some  one  else  was 
probably  disappointed  as  well  as  ourselves,  for  we  met  Count 
Waldegrave  descending  the  stair  as  we  went  up." 

"  Ah !  "  said  the  Marquis— and  to  the  quick  ears  listening  the 
tone  of  his  interjection  betrayed  more  than  he  had  intended.  He 
had,  in  fact,  heard  from  Stanhope  of  Waldegrave's  return,  and  knew 
that  this  afternoon  was  appointed  for  his  visit  to  Irene.  If  Miss 
Dysart  had  met  him  descending  the  stair,  the  visit  no  doubt  was 
over.  What  had  been  the  result?  It  was  impossible  that  he 
should  not  ask  himself  this  question  with  some  anxiety,  and  equally 
impossible  that  there  should  not  be  some  betrayal  of  feeling  other 
than  indifference  in  his  tone. 

Putting  her  own  interpretation  upon  it,  Miss  Dysart  began  to 
think  that  perhaps  Count  Waldegrave  was  attracted  by  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner, since  she  knew  that  the  Marquis  was  the  avowed  suitor  of 


454  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

the  latter.  Nevertheless,  she  determined  to  make  a  sounding  on 
the  subject  of  Irene. 

"  It  struck  me,"  she  said,  "  as  singular  to  see  Count  Waldegrave 
there,  since  the  young  lady  under  Mrs.  Falconer's  care  is  so  nearly 
connected  with  him.  It  was  a  sad  story !  Did  you  know  that 
her  mother  was  Prince  Waldegrave's  wife — for  a  time  ?  " 

"  And  do  you  think,"  asked  the  Marquis,  restraining  his  incli- 
nation to  speak  haughtily,  "  that  a  wife  can  he  a  wife  only  '  for  a 
time'  ?  I  believe  that  marriage  once  contracted  validly  can  only 
be  dissolved  by  death.  Therefore,  if  Miss  Lescar's  mother  was 
Prince  Waldegrave's  wife  once,  she  was  his  wife  when  she 
died." 

Violet  did  not  reply  for  a  moment.  She  was  in  truth  aston- 
ished— not  only  by  the  Marquis's  evident  knowledge  of  what  she 
had  supposed  would  be  new  information  to  him,  but  by  the  tone 
and  manner  of  his  speech.  She  began  to  ask  herself,  as  Stanhope 
had  more  than  once  asked  himself ,  if  every  one  was  bewitched  by 
this  beautiful  girl  with  her  heritage  of  wrong. 

"  You  are  probably  not  aware,"  she  said,  presently,  "that  the 
marriage  was  dissolved  on  the  ground  of  legal  informality." 

"  And  what,"  he  answered,  "has  legal  formality  or  informality 
to  do  with  the  sacrament  of  matrimony  ?  It  is  something  which 
is  not  derived  from  any  law  of  man,  and  can  not  be  dissolved  by 
men's  laws.  That,  as  you  are  no  doubt  aware,  has  always  been 
the  authoritative  teaching  of  the  Catholic  Church.  Being  a  Cath- 
olic, Miss  Lescar's  mother  neither  did  nor  could  acknowledge  the 
power  of  any  secular  jurisdiction  to  set  aside  her  marriage.  She 
simply  bowed  to  the  law  of  force.  And  her  daughter,  like  her- 
self, is  the  victim  of  that  law." 

"  You  seem  to  know  a  great  deal  about  the  matter — and  to  be 
very  much  interested  in  it,"  said  Miss  Dysart,  unable  to  repress  a 
tone  of  sarcasm. 

"I  do  not  imagine  that  I  know  more  than  you  do,1' replied 
the  Marquis.  "The  only  difference  is  our  way  of  looking  at 
facts." 

"  And  does  Count  Waldegrave  take  the  same  view  as  your- 
self? "  she  asked,  with  the  sarcastic  tone  still  more  plain. 

"  For  the  view  which  Count  Waldegrave  takes  I  must  refer 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  455 

you  to  Count  Waldegrave,"  said  the  Marquis.    And  then,  with  a 
bow,  he  left  the  carriage. 

"Waldegrave,  meanwhile,  after  parting  with  Miss  Dysart,  had 
gone  directly  to  the  "  Europa,"  where  he  sent  his  card  to  Stan- 
hope. 

The  latter  had  not  gone  out,  and,  when  the  young  Count  was 
shown  up,  met  him  eagerly.  "  I  hope,"  he  said,  "  that  I  may 
congratulate  you." 

"On  the  contrary,"  Waldegrave  answered,  "you  may  con- 
gratulate yourself  on  the  accuracy  of  your  judgment.  I  have  ac- 
complished nothing." 

"  Irene  refuses  all  overtures  ?  " 

"  All— absolutely  and  entirely." 

"I  feared  as  much.  You  did  not  know  the  force  with  which 
you  had  to  cope." 

"  I  have  learned  it,  however— its  strength,  its  intensity— and  I 
shall  know  better  how  to  cope  with  it  a  second  time." 

Stanhope  regarded  the  speaker  with  surprise.  "Then  you 
have  not  resigned  all  thought  of  success  ?  "  he  asked. 

"How  can  I  resign  it,  when  so  much  depends  upon  success?" 
was  the  reply.  "  I  do  not  speak  of  my  own  wishes,  but  of  all  her 
future  life.  Think  of  the  difference  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  be- 
tween what  she  is  and  what  she  would  be  as  Prince  Waldegrave'a 
acknowledged  daughter!  Think,  again,  of  the  difference  in 
prospect  before  her  now,  and  before  her  if  she  accepted  his 
offer ! " 

"  I  do  think  of  and  fully  realize  it  all,"  said  Stanhope ;  "  but 
what  then  ?  You  can  not  move  her." 

"She  must  be  moved,"  said  Waldegrave.  "It  is  incredible 
that  the  will  of  a  mere  girl  can  not  be  bent  by  the  influence  of 
every  one  whom  she  respects  or  loves.  Of  your  influence  I  hope 
that  I  am  certain." 

"  Perfectly  certain— but  the  trouble  is,  that  I  have  none." 

"  Who  has  any,  then  ?  Mrs.  Falconer  ?  As  a  woman  of  the 
world,  she  must  see  what  is  the  wise  thing  to  advocate." 

"  Mrs.  Falconer  is  not  so  much  a  woman  of  the  world,  in  some 
of  her  ideas,  as  you  might  imagine,"  answered  Stanhope,  thinking 


456  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

of  some  ideas  which  Mrs.  Falconer  had  uttered  that  morning. 
"But  with  the  hest  will  in  the  world,  and  although  there  is  a' 
strong  attachment  between  herself  and  Irene,  I  am  sure  that  on 
this  subject  her  advocacy  would  have  no  more  weight  than  yours 
or  mine.  As  I  told  you  before,  if  her  mother's  prayer  could  not 
move  the  girl,  no  influence  which  could  be  brought  to  bear  by 
any  one  else  would  have  the  least  effect." 

Waldegrave  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  he  said:  "Yet  it 
is  evident  that  passionate  affection  for  her  mother  is  the  chief 
root  of  her  determination.  Her  resentment  is  less  for  herself 
than  for  one  whom  she  calls  'the  only  creature  that  she  ever 
perfectly  loved.' " 

"  I  am  quite  sure  of  that,"  said  Stanhope.  "  It  is  her  mother's 
wrong  which  is  chiefly  in  her  mind,  and  naturally  she  feels  it  more 
because  it  has  not  been  long  since  death  robbed  her  of  that  pas- 
sionately loved  mother.  But  this  only  makes  the  case  more  hope- 
less. If  it  were  a  selfish  resentment,  the  atonement  which  is  of- 
fered would  suffice.  But  you  can  not  atone  for  the  wrong  done 
one  who  has  passed  beyond  the  reach  of  man's  injustice." 

"No  atonement  would  be  possible  if  she  were  living,"  said 
"Waldegrave.  "  Unfortunately,  that  is  a  point  upon  which  Irene 
has  fastened." 

"And  a  point  which  it  is  difficult  for  you  to  get  over,"  said 
Stanhope,  with  a  smile.  "  The  best  advice  I  can  offer  you  is  this : 
if  you  are  a  wise  man,  you  will  rest  satisfied  with  what  you  have 
done,  and  think  no  more  of  this  girl.  She  is  impracticable." 

"  Then  I  am  not  a  wise  man,"  said  Waldegrave,  "  for  I  do  not 
intend  to  rest  satisfied.  On  the  contrary,  I  shall  return  to  Nice 
and  endeavor  to  persuade  my  uncle  to  come  to  Rome  and  try  his 
personal  influence.  One  who  has  been  so  deeply  injured  deserves 
that  every  possible  amende  shall  be  made  to  her." 

"I  scarcely  think  that  Prince  Waldegrave  will  risk  his  dignity 
in  such  an  interview,"  said  Stanhope,  gravely — "  and  I  am  sure 
that  he  will  regret  it  if  he  does." 

"  There  is  no  reason  why  any  one  should  regret  an  attempt  to 
atone,  even  if  the  atonement  is  refused  by  the  person  to  whom  it 
is  offered,"  said  Waldegrave.  "  The  offer  of  justice  coming  from 
my  uncle  must  have  more  weight  than  when  coming  from  me ; 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  457 

and  I  trust  much  to  the  influence  of  his  presence — of  his  strong 
personal  magnetism." 

Stanhope  shook  his  head.  "  Trust  to  nothing  of  the  kind," 
he  said.  "  It  will  not  affect  Irene.  She  has  a  heart  of  steel.  It 
may  break — it  will  never  bend.  But  because  I  believe  that  you 
will  fail,  it  does  not  follow  that  I  should  not  wish  you  to  succeed 
— if  success  were  possible." 

"  It  must  be  made  possible,"  said  Waldegrave.  "  I  am  not 
daunted  by  her  refusal.  I  believe  that  in  the  end  she  will  yield. 
Even  steel  bends  if  subjected  to  sufficient  heat." 

"You  deserve  to  succeed,"  said  Stanhope,  with  a  smile.  "But 
let  me  ask  if  you  have  forgotten  what  I  told  you  of  the  Marquis 
de  Chateaumesnil  ? " 

"No,"  answered  the  other,  rising,  "and  the  field  is  open  to 
him.  I  only  hope  that,  if  he  succeeds,  he  may  use  whatever  in- 
fluence he  acquires  to  induce  her  to  take  the  simple  justice  of 
her  birthright." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

LATER  the  same  afternoon,  as  Erne  was  crossing  the  Piazza  di 
Spagna  toward  the  Trinita  de'  Monti  steps,  he  was  struck  by  the 
figure  of  a  lady  who,  attended  by  a  maid,  descended  the  steps  and 
walked  in  the  direction  of  the  Propaganda.  He  knew  Irene  at 
once ;  for,  though  she  was  closely  veiled,  the  grace  which  distin- 
guished her  was  unmistakable,  and  involuntarily  he  turned  also 
and  followed  her. 

He  had  not  far  to  go.  Passing  around  the  massive  walls  of 
the  Propaganda,  she  entered  the  church  of  Sant'  Andrea  delle 
Fratte,  which  is  situated  in  its  rear.  Erne  entered  also,  but  being 
much  behind  her,  found  that  he  had  lost  sight  of  the  slender  figure 
when  he  stood  within  the  church.  That,  however,  did  not  dis- 
turb him ;  it  would  be  quite  certain  to  reappear.  Many  forms 
were  moving  about  the  nave  and  kneeling  at  the  different  chapels 
— a  diverse  throng,  such  as  may  be  seen  in  any  Roman  church : 
here  a  feeble  beggar,  come  to  thank  God  for  the  alms  of  the  day, 
and  ask  for  the  bread  of  the  morrow ;  there  a  princely  gentleman, 
with  the  inherited  culture  of  centuries  stamped  upon  him,  kneel- 
20 


458  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

ing  on  the  pavement  near  a  laborer,  toil-worn  from  his  day's 
work ;  there  a  great  lady,  side  by  side  with  a  humble  woman  of 
the  people— for  this  is  the  one  spot  of  earth  where  man's  vain 
dream  of  equality  is  realized  and  practiced.  It  was  past  the  hour 
when  tourists,  armed  with  red-backed  guide-books,  wander  about 
the  churches,  reading  descriptions  of  famous  pictures,  but  discern- 
ing nothing  of  the  spiritual  glory  around  them.  An  air  of  quiet 
devotion  filled  this  twilight  hour.  Presently  some  sweet  unseen 
voices  began  to  sing,  lights  flashed  out  on  an  altar — there  was  to 
be  Benediction. 

It  was  then  that  Erne  saw  Irene  again.  She  was  kneeling  in 
the  circle  of  light,  and  the  face  which  she  had  unveiled  was  white 
as  a  lily,  with  eyes  gleaming  like  stars  under  the  dark  lashes  and 
brows.  The  young  man  knew  nothing  of  Waldegrave's  visit — he 
had  never  been  informed,  save  by  his  own  vague  jealousy,  of  any 
intentions  or  hopes  of  the  latter — but  he  recognized  at  once,  on 
the  face  he  knew  and  loved,  signs  that  the  spirit  had  been,  per- 
haps still  was,  deeply  moved.  There  seemed  to  him  a  whole 
drama  of  feeling  in  that  pale,  sensitive  countenance,  in  those 
violet-shadowed,  brilliant  eyes.  He  glanced  at  her  hands.  They 
were  clasped  tightly  together  with  the  unconscious  force  of  one 
who  is  enduring  either  physical  or  mental  pain,  while  her  gaze 
was  fastened  without  wavering  on  the  Host,  before  which  priest 
and  people  knelt,  motionless  as  statues. 

As  the  sweet  chanting  ceased,  the  priest,  rising,  took  down 
the  monstrance,  with  its  flashing  rays,  to  lift  it  in  benediction. 
Every  head  bent — Irene's  so  far  forward  that  her  forehead  al- 
most touched  the  pavement — and  then,  after  an  interval,  the 
candles  on  the  altar  were  extinguished,  and  the  kneeling  forms, 
one  by  one,  began  to  rise  and  move  away.  Erne  waited  until 
Irdne  rose,  then  he  went  outside  and  stood  on  the  steps  waiting 
for  her.  But  she  was  long  in  appearing — so  long,  that  he  began 
to  question  whether  she  might  not  have  left  by  another  door, 
when  the  heavy  curtain  lifted,  and,  followed  by  her  attendant,  she 
came  out. 

His  first  glance  showed  him  that  a  change  had  passed  over  her 
face.  It  was  still  strikingly  pale,  but  more  serene  in  expression ; 
and  a  slight  moisture  clung  to  her  long,  dark  lashes.  She  looked 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  459 

surprised  when  she  saw  him,  but  held  out  her  hand  with  a 
smile. 

"  Have  you  been  in  the  church?  "  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  he  answered.  "I  followed  you  when  you  went  in. 
And  since  the  end  of  the  Benediction  I  have  been  waiting  here 
for  you." 

"I  am  sorry  that  you  have  had  to  wait  so  long,"  she  said; 
"but  I  paused  to  speak  to  Monsignor  R ." 

"  You  are  in  trouble,"  said  the  young  man,  with  a  quick  glance 
at  her  face.  "  I  recognized  that  as  soon  as  I  saw  you." 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  "I  am  in  trouble — in  the  shadow  of  an 
old  grief  and  the  stress  of  a  struggle.  But  do  not  speak  of  it.  I 
feel  calmer  since  I  entered  here,  and  I  have  heard  some  words  of 
counsel  that  will  help  me.  But  it  is  later  than  I  thought. — Come, 
Betta,  we  must  hasten  home." 

"I  may  come  with  you,  may  I  not?  "  asked  Erne. 

"  You  know  the  laws  of  propriety  better  than  I  do,"  she  an- 
swered, smiling.  "I  suppose  you  may  be  permitted  to  walk  with 
me  so  far — since  I  am  not  alone." 

"  I  was  on  my  way  to  Mrs.  Falconer's  when  I  saw  you,  and, 
of  course,  followed  you,"  he  said,  as  they  descended  the  steps  and 
walked  together.  "I  had  a  special  object  in  the  visit — to  propose 
to  her  some  definite  arrangements  for  the  visit  to  Cori  and  Norba 
that  you  wish  to  make." 

"  Ah,  I  should  like  that !  "  said  Irene,  quickly.  "  I  should  be 
glad  to  go  anywhere — away  from  Eome — -just  now." 

To  Erne's  lips  leaped  the  words,  "Who  is  annoying  you  in 
Eome  ? "  But  he  restrained  them,  conscious  that  he  had  no  right 
to  ask — and  after  a  short  pause,  said : 

"  Then  we  must  go.  I  will  urge  my  cousin  to  make  an  imme- 
diate appointment." 

"And  what  of  Ninfa,  the  fairy  city  buried  in  flowers?  "  she 
asked.  "  Shall  we  not  go  there  ?  " 

"  Certainly  we  shall.  It  is  because  I  am  so  anxious  for  you  to 
see  it  that  I  do  not  want  to  delay  the  visit  later,  on  account  of  the 
danger  of  fever  in  visiting  Ninfa." 

"  Then  pray  let  us  go  at  once.  If  Mrs.  Falconer  would  con- 
sent, I  should  like  to  start  to-morrow." 


460  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"  That  is  hardly  possible,  bnt  I  want  her  to  arrange  her  engage- 
ments so  that  we  may  go  early  next  week." 

"  I  hope  she  will  consent  to  do  so,"  said  Irene. 

They  now  reached  the  end  of  their  short  walk,  and  found  Mrs. 
Falconer  in  the  sala,  rather  anxiously  awaiting  Irene,  who  had 
gone  out  before  she  returned.  It  was  a  relief  to  her  to  see  the 
girl  enter,  looking  so  much  as  usual,  and  with  such  a  pleased  and 
friendly  expression. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  thought  it  strange  when  you  heard  that  I  had 
gone  out,"  she  said;  "  but  of  course  I  had  Betta  with  me,  and  I 
went  no  farther  than  Sant'  Andrea  delle  Fratte,  where  I  wished  to 

see  Monsignor  R .  That  detained  me ;  and  when  I  came  out 

I  found  Mr.  Erne  on  the  steps  of  the  church." 

"  Whence  he  thought  that  Mrs.  Grundy  would  permit  him  to 
escort  Miss  Lescar  to  her  own  threshold,"  said  Erne,  regarding  his 
cousin  half  defiantly. 

But  Mrs.  Falconer  had  no  disposition  to  play  the  part  of  Mrs. 
Grundy  with  any  degree  of  severity.  She  had  feared  she  knew 
not  what  explosion  on  Irene's  part  after  Count  Waldegrave's  visit, 
and  her  serenity  was  a  delightful  surprise.  A  few  more  words 
were  exchanged,  then  Irene  left  the  room  to  make  her  toilet  for 
dinner,  and  Erne  immediately  said : 

"  Miss  Lescar  is  in  trouble.    What  has  occurred  to  annoy  her  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  know  that  she  is  in  trouble  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner, surprised  at  the  quickness  of  his  penetration. 

u  By  her  face — which  tells  everything,"  he  answered.  "  Not 
her  face  as  it  was  looking  when  she  left  the  room,  but  with  the 
expression  it  wore  when  she  was  kneeling  in  the  church — that 
of  one  who  has  just  emerged,  or  was  still  suffering,  from  some 
storm  of  passion." 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  "  there  had  been,  no  doubt,  such 
a  storm.  Count  Waldegrave  was  here  this  afternoon — can  you 
imagine  for  what  purpose  ?  " 

The  young  man  turned  pale.  "It  could  only  be  for  one,"  he 
replied.  "  He  wishes  to  marry  her." 

"  He  does  wish  to  marry  her,"  his  cousin  answered ;  "  but  that 
was  not  likely  to  have  been  as  exciting  intelligence  as  something 
else  which  he  had  to  say.  He  came  as  Prince  Waldegrave's 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  461 

envoy — bearing  his  offer  to  acknowledge,  and  receive  her  as  his 
daughter." 

"And  she  answered — ?  " 

"  What  would  you  suppose,  from  your  knowledge  of  her  char- 
acter, that  she  answered?  " 

"  I  should  say  that  she  refused  to  entertain  such  a  proposal." 

"  She  did  refuse — absolutely.  I  have  heard  it  from  Mr.  Stan- 
hope, who  had  just  left  when  you  came  in ;  and  his  information 
was  from  the  best  possible  source — Count  Waldegrave  himself." 

"And  Count  Waldegrave's  matrimonial  proposal — she  also 
refused  that  ? " 

"  She  refused  everything  that  uncle  or  nephew,  separately  or 
together,  could  offer." 

"She  is  a  magnificent  creature!  "  cried  Erne,  rising  with  an 
unconsciously  exultant  movement.  "I  always  knew  that." 

"  She  is  an  inflexible  creature,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  I  do  not 
blame  her  for  refusing  to  take  anything  from  the  father  who  dis- 
owned her  mother  and  herself;  but  I  wish  she  could  subdue  the 
bitterness  of  her  resentment  toward  him." 

"In  short,"  said  Erne,  "you  would  like  her  to  talk  of  forgive- 
ness while  she  proved  her  resentment  by  deeds  that  speak  more 
loudly  than  many  words.  You  are  inconsistent.  Either  she  should 
take  what  her  father  extends,  and  bury  the  past  in  her  mother's 
grave,  or  she  should  not  talk  of  a  forgiveness  that  bears  no  prac- 
tical fruit." 

"Your  opinion  is  expressed  with  sufficient  decision,"  said  Mrs. 
Falconer;  "  but,  since  I  am  not  aware  that  it  rests  on  any  ground 
but  that  of  your  own  not  infallible  judgment,  I  must  be  pardoned 
if  I  differ  from  it." 

"At  all  events,"  said  Erne,  "what  you  tell  me  accounts  for 
her  appearance  as  she  was  kneeling  in  church,  unconscious  that 
any  eyes  were  observing  her." 

"  Naturally— since  people  do  not  go  to  church  to  be  stared  at. 
But  when  did  the  change  occur — for  I  was  surprised  at  her  ex- 
pression when  she  came  in  ? " 

"  Her  face  had  changed  when  she  left  the  church.  But  I  flat- 
ter myself  that  I  had  something  to  do  with  her  look  when  she 
came  in  here.  I  had  just  told  her  that  I  was  on  ray  way,  as  I  met 


462  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

her,  to  ask  you  to  make  arrangements  for  our  visit  to  Norba  and 
Ninf  a — and  she  said  at  once :  '  I  shall  like  that.  I  should  be  glad 
to  go  anywhere — away  from  Eome — just  now  ! ' " 

"  I  am  sorry  that  you  did  not  speak  to  me  before  telling  her  of 
your  intention,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  gravely,  "for  it  is  very  nec- 
essary that  she  should  not  leave  Eome  just  now." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  asked  Erne,  in  displeased  astonishment.  "  Does 
Count  Waldegrave  object  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Lionel,  sarcasm  is  not  your  forte.  And  you  may  be 
sure  that  I  have  a  good  reason  for  what  I  say." 

"  Is  your  reason  a  mysterious  as  well  as  a  good  one  ?  " 

"  It  is  confidential,  at  least— but  I  will  trust  you  with  it.  Brief- 
ly, then,  Count  Waldegrave  goes  to  Nice  to  endeavor  to  induce 
his  uncle  to  come  and  himself  make  the  offer  of  atonement  which 
has  been  rejected  by  her.  Of  course,  it  is  possible  that  Prince 
Waldegrave  may  refuse  to  do  anything  of  the  kind ;  but  should 
he  come,  it  would  look  very  badly  if  we,  Irene's  friends,  had  car- 
ried her  away." 

"  It  is  what  she  would  wish,"  said  Erne.  "  She  must  have  had 
an  instinct  of  this  when  she  spoke  so  eagerly  of  longing  to  go 
away." 

"  Nevertheless,  she  must  not  be  allowed  to  go.  I  do  not  think 
that,  if  Count  Waldegrave  persuades  his  uncle  to  come,  the  visit 
•will  have  any  effect  upon  her.  But  if  she  were  won  to  accept  her 
father's  proposal,  the  change  in  her  life  and  all  her  life's  prospects 
would  be  so  great,  that  no  one  could  venture  to  throw  any  obsta- 
cle in  the  path  that  might  lead  to  such  a  result." 

"  And  to  another  result  which  might  or  might  not  prove  as 
happy — her  marriage  with  Count  Waldegrave,"  said  Erne,  a  little 
bitterly. 

"I  do  not  think  of  that,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "I  have  no 
idea  that  she  will  ever  consent  to  marry  him ;  and,  although  his 
own  wishes  shape  his  conduct  somewhat,  Mr.  Stanhope  is  sure 
that  he  is  disinterestedly  anxious  for  her  to  accept  what  he  con- 
siders but  simple  justice." 

Erne  did  not  speak  for  a  moment.  He  walked  across  the  floor, 
drew  a  flower  from  a  vase  full  of  blossoms,  inhaled  its  fragrance 
absently,  then  replaced  it,  and  returned. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  463 

"  What  a  fate  hers  has  heen  !  "  he  said,  abruptly.  "  And  what 
will  her  destiny  be  ?  I  am  never  with  her  without  feeling  that  it 
can  not  be  a  common  one." 

"It  may  be  a  very  brilliant  one — if  she  chooses,"  said  Mrs. 
Falconer. 

"  Yes — as  Prince  Waldegrave's  daughter,  or  Count  Walde- 
grave's  wife.  But  she  will  never  choose  to  be  either.  I  am  sure 
of  that." 

He  spoke  in  the  tone  of  one  who  challenges  contradiction. 
But  Mrs.  Falconer  did  not  contradict  him.  What  had  been  in  her 
mind  was  something  altogether  different — but  something  which 
she  could  not  mention  to  Erne — the  suit  of  the  Marquis  de  Cha- 
teaumesnil. 

Fortunately,  a  servant  at  that  moment  entered  with  lights, 
and  the  whole  apartment  was  soon  full  of  that  soft  radiance  which 
only  wax-candles  in  great  numbers  produce.  Then,  as  the  door- 
bell sounded,  Mrs.  Falconer  said : 

"  M.  de  Chateaumesnil  dines  here  this  evening ;  and,  if  we  dis- 
cuss your  expedition,  Lionel,  we  must  ask  him  to  join  it." 

To  which,  unsuspicious  Lionel — who  had  no  doubt  that  in  the 
end  he  should  see  his  cousin  Marquise  de  Chateaumesnil — replied 
that  nothing  could  give  him  greater  pleasure  than  that  the  Mar- 
quis should  be  asked  to  join  them. 

Several  hours  later,  her  guests  having  departed,  Mrs.  Falconer 
bade  Mrs.  Vance  good-night  and  followed  Ir£ne — who  had  already 
at  the  first  opportunity  retired.  Passing  down  the  suite  of  recep- 
tion-rooms, through  the  boudoir — which,  in  its  air  of  inviolate 
quiet,  gave  no  hint  of  the  scene  it  had  witnessed  that  afternoon — 
she  entered  her  own  chamber,  and,  crossing  it,  knocked  at  a 
closed  door. 

"  Entrez  !  "  said  a  low  voice ;  and,  when  she  entered  the  room, 
Irene  lifted  herself  from  a  couch  on  which  she  had  evidently 
thrown  herself  in  an  abandonment  of  weariness.  She  was  look- 
ing very  tired — her  complexion  as  colorless,  the  violet  shadows 
under  her  eyes  as  deep,  as  when  Erne  had  seen  her  in  the  church 
— and,  struck  by  her  appearance,  Mrs.  Falconer  exclaimed : 

"How  sorry  I  am  that  any  one  was  here  this  evening!     I 


464:  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

should  not  have  asked  the  Marquis  to  dine  if  I  had  known  that 
you  would  be  so  exhausted — or,  rather,  that  you  would  have  to 
encounter  what  exhausted  you." 

"And  why  should  I  have  encountered  it?  "  asked  Irene,  in  a 
tone  of  reproach.  "  Why  did  you  betray  me  in  such  a  manner  ?  " 

"I  felt  like  a  wretch,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  sitting  down  by 
her.  "  But  what  could  I  do  ?  I  knew  that  you  would  not  have 
seen  Count  Waldegrave  without  stratagem,  and  both  Mr.  Stan- 
hope and  myself  felt  that  you  ought  to  see  him — that  you  ought 
to  hear  what  he  had  to  say.  We  could  not  take  the  responsibility 
of  permitting  you  to  decide  without  fully  knowing  what  you  were 
doing." 

"That  only  shows  how  little  you  know  me,"  said  Irene. 
"  What  could  Count  Waldegrave  possibly  have  to  say  that  would 
alter  facts?  Can  he,  or  can  the  man  in  whose  name  he  spoke, 
bring  back  my  mother,  wipe  out  the  wrong  that  was  done  her, 
the  years  of  injustice  and  suffering?  When  they  can — I  told  him 
that — they  may  come  and  talk  to  me  of  reparation !  " 

"But,  my  dear  child,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  who  would  not 
acknowledge  how  nearly  this  was  her  own  view  of  the  case,  "  you 
must  not  be  unjust  in  turn.  You  must  not  confound  Count  Wal- 
degrave with  his  uncle.  He  had  no  share  in  your  mother's  wrong, 
and  he  offers  to  you  all  that  your  mother  lost.  If  you  take  it  from 
him,  you  will  owe  nothing  to  Prince  Waldegrave.  I  am  not  urging 
you  to  do  so,"  the  speaker  added,  quickly,-"!  am  only  putting  it 
before  you." 

"He  put  it  before  me,"  said  Irene;  "and  yet  he  dwelt  very 
little  on  himself.  I  will  do  him  the  justice  to  say  that  he  seemed 
to  think  most  of  me.  He  urged  me  to  accept  Prince  Waldegravc's 
offer.  He  dwelt  little  on  his  own." 

"  That  is  strange,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  Instinct  should  have 
told  him  that  his  own  was  the  one  to  dwell  upon." 

"Then  he  would  have  made  a  mistake,"  said  Irene.  "He 
would  have  produced  no  more  impression  upon  me  with  one  than 
with  the  other.  But  I  should  have  been  less  struck  with  his 
nobility  and  unselfishness." 

"Oh!"  said  Mrs.  Falconer — rather  a  long  "Oh!" — "you 
icsre  struck  with  those  things?" 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  465 

"  I  could  not  fail  to  be.  Even  after  he  heard  that  I  would  not 
marry  him,  and  after  I  acknowledged  that  I  had  been  glad  to 
think  that  he  loved  me,  because  that  lie  should  suffer  through  me 
seemed  a  sort  of  retribution,  he  was  not  the  less  earnest  in  his 
desire  that  I  should,  at  least,  accept  Prince  Waldegrave's  atone- 
ment. One  feels  sincerity.  I  felt  that  he  was  sincere  in  desiring 
this — in  begging  me  to  rise  above  resentment,  to  conquer  wrong 
by  forgiving  it.  That  was  my  mother's  way.  But  along  that  road 
I  can  not  follow  her ! — and  this  is  the  struggle  in  which  I  have 
been,  as  it  were,  rent  asunder." 

She  looked  as  if  she  had  been.  Her  very  lips  were  drained  of 
color,  and  the  shining  of  her  great  eyes  showed  the  excitement 
which  still  wrought  upon  the  high-strung  temperament  like  ill- 
ness. As  she  fell  back  again  upon  the  cushions  of  her  couch,  her 
glance  turned  to  a  beautiful  picture  of  her  mother  which  hung  at 
its  foot,  and,  following  the  direction  of  her  gaze,  Mrs.  Falconer 
said : 

"Does  it  occur  to  you  to  consider  what  your  mother  would 
bid  you  decide  in  this  important  moment  of  your  life  ?  " 

Ir&ne  put  up  her  hands  as  if  warding  off  a  blow.  "  Do  not  ask 
me !  "  she  said.  u  I  can  not  ask  myself.  I  am  like  one  torn  in 
two.  My  mother  seems  arrayed  on  both  sides.  I  hear  her  voice 
— her  dying  voice — bidding  me  forgive.  But  forgiving  does  not — 
can  not — mean  taking  for  myself  what  she  was  robbed  of  1  I  am 
not  bound  to  accept  reparation,  though  I  am  bound  to  forgive. 
And  I  can  not — I  can  not !  " 

It  was  only  the  old  story — a  story  as  old  as  humanity,  and 
which  will  end  only  with  humanity — the  terrible  struggle  of 
nature  in  the  effort  to  subject  itself  to  a  law  higher  than  nature. 
Mrs.  Falconer  was  silent.  She  felt  that  in  this  battle  of  the  soul 
she  could  take  no  part ;  and  she  also  felt  that  Ir£ne  needed  quiet- 
ing rather  than  further  excitement.  So,  presently,  she  said : 

"  Let  us  talk  no  more  of  this.  Try  to  think  of  something  else. 
Think  of  our  journey  to  the  hills.  You  will  like  that." 

"  Yes,  I  shall  like  it,"  Ir&ie  answered.  "  I  feel  a  longing  for 
great  heights — for  wide  distances.  The  soul,  as  well  as  the  body, 
seems  to  breathe  more  freely  in  such  places— to  feel  a  higher 
atmosphere — to  reach  after  nobler  things." 


466  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"And  we  shall  be  a  pleasant  party — just  ourselves,  with 
Lionel,  Mr.  Stanhope,  and  the  Marquis.  I  hope  you  do  not  object 
to  M.  de  Chateaumesnil  going  with  us?  " 

"Not  at  all.  You  know  that  I  like  him  very  much,  and 
always  find  him  very  sympathetic." 

"He  certainly  finds  you  sympathetic,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer, 
smiling.  "It  is  a  pity  that  he  never  found  me  so — nor  I  him, 
save  in  limited  degree."  Then  she  added,  "  Have  I  told  you  that 
all  is  over  between  us— that  I  have  declined  the  honor  of  his 
hand?" 

"No,"  answered  Irene,  with  quick  interest;  "you  have  not 
told  me  before.  Have  you  indeed  done  so  ?  And  yet  he  comes 
here — apparently  unchanged  ? " 

"  "Why  not  ?  There  was  no  feeling  to  be  wounded — on  either 
side.  We  are  still  good  friends." 

"  I  am  sorry — and  yet  I  am  not  sorry,"  said  Irene,  after  an  in- 
terval of  silence.  "  I  should  have  been  glad  to  see  you  filling  a 
position  for  which  you  are  so  well  fitted ;  but  I  should  have  hated 
to  see  you  marry  a  man  who  did  not  love  you  as  yon  deserve  to 
be  loved.  Even  M.  de  Chateaumesnil  is  not  worthy  of  you,  if  he 
does  not  offer  devotion  as  well  as  rank." 

"Devotion  is  what  he  did  not  offer — to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner. "  But  I  think  that  he  will  one  day  offer  it  to  some  one 
else."  She  paused — hesitated — then,  with  the  air  of  making  a 
general  remark,  went  on:  "This  troublesome  thing  of  marriage 
meets  one  at  every  turn.  If  one  does  not  marry  one's  self,  all 
one's  friends  do — and  that  is  almost  as  disagreeable.  I  confess 
that  I  can  not  conceive  why  a  man  should  ever  wish  to  marry. 
He  is  so  free  when  unmarried!  But  a  woman  is  different. 
Unless  she  has  some  strong  bent  —  religious  or  artistic,  let 
us  say — it  is  better  for  her  to  marry,  if  she  can  marry  well." 
Another  pause  —  then,  "Does  it  never  occur  to  you,  my  dear, 
to  think  of  marriage  as  something  that  may  concern  your- 
self?" 

"Never,"  answered  Irene.  "I  have  told  you  the  reasons  why 
I  shall  never  think  of  marriage.  They  are  not  changed." 

"But  do  you  not  feel  that  they  may  be  changed  by  this 
action  on  the  part  of  your  father  ?  Even  if  you  accept  noth- 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  467 

ing  from  him,  his  acknowledgment  of  the  purity  of  your  birth  is 
much." 

"  Then  it  would  be  to  Prince  Waldegrave  I  should  be  indebted 
for  a  husband,"  said  Irene,  coldly.  "I  could  hardly  take  even 
that  gift  from  his  hand.  No :  I  am  able  to  stand  alone  and  suf- 
fice for  myself.  I  will  take  my  inheritance  of  wrong  to  no  man — 
let  his  name  or  rank  be  what  it  will." 

This  was  a  little  dismaying  to  Mrs.  Falconer,  who,  whatever 
her  opinion  of  matrimony  as  regarded  herself,  had,  as  we  have 
seen,  a  modicum  at  least  of  the  usual  feminine  love  of  match-mak- 
ing, and  who  felt  bound  to  protest  when  she  saw  this  young  and 
beautiful  creature  turning  away  from  brilliant  possibilities.  "  My 
dear  child,"  she  said,  gravely,  "I  do  not  like  to  hear  you  talk  in 
such  a  manner.  Believe  me,  it  is  not  reasonable.  You  are  too 
young  to  decide  so  positively  for  all  your  life.  You  do  not  know 
what  you  are  doing." 

"  I  think  that  I  know  perfectly,"  answered  Irene,  "  and  there 
is  nothing  in  the  prospect  which  daunts  me.  Why  should  it?  If 
I  had  ever  doubted  how  delightful  the  life  of  an  unmarried  woman 
can  be  made,  your  life  would  reassure  me." 

"Ah!  but  I  have  been  married,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "That 
makes  a  great  difference  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  And  I  am 
rich.  I  do  not  mean  to  be  cynical,  but  experience  tells  me  that 
everything  is  possible  to  wealth — if  one  knows  how  to  use  it." 

"I  have  not  been  married,  and  I  am  not  rich,"  said  Irene,  with 
a  slight  smile,  "  yet  I  am  not  afraid  of  my  future.  There  are  all 
the  delights  of  the  intellect  and  of  art ;  and,  if  I  find  life  too  tame, 
I  can  any  day  step  on  the  lyric  stage  and  make  it  what  I  will." 

"  I  am  not  in  the  least  afraid  that  you  will  ever  do  that,"  said 
Mrs.  Falconer.  "  You  are  far  too  proud  to  forfeit  social  position 
for  the  tinsel  rank  of  the  stage.  I  am  sure  there  is  not  the  daugh- 
ter of  a  princely  house  in  Home  who  would  shrink  from  such  a 
step  more  than  yourself." 

"And  do  you  think  there  is  one — let  her  blood  have  come 
down  through  what  centuries  of  nobles  you  will — who  could 
shrink  from  it  more  than  she  did  ?  "  asked  the  girl,  pointing  to  her 
mother's  picture.  "  And  yet  she  had  to  bear  it — for  me !  And  I 
am  asked  to  forgive  the  man  who  made  such  martyrdom  neces- 


468  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

sary. — O  my  mother — my  proud,  brave,  beautiful  mother — I  would 
rather  follow  your  footsteps  over  burning  plowshares  than  take 
the  wealth  of  a  kingdom  from  him!  " 


CHAPTER  X. 

WHEN  Waldegrave  arrived  at  his  uncle's  villa  the  second  time, 
it  was  without  announcement  of  his  coming,  and  the  servants,  who 
received  him  with  well-bred  surprise,  informed  him  that  the 
Prince  and  Princess  had  driven  into  Nice. 

"Very  well,"  he  replied.  "Let  his  Excellency  be  informed, 
as  soon  as  he  returns,  of  my  arrival.  I  shall  probably  be  found  in 
the  garden." 

And,  indeed,  as  soon  as  he  had  changed  his  dress,  he  descended 
to  that  paradise  where  on  his  last  visit  he  had  wandered  under 
the  stars  and  dreamed  such  exquisite  and  vain  dreams.  It  was 
even  more  beautiful  now — in  the  late  afternoon  of  a  perfect  day 
— than  it  had  been  then.  And  it  was  a  paradise  in  which  he  was 
as  much  alone  as  Adam  was  before  the  creation  of  Eve.  No  foot- 
step but  his  own  echoed  down  the  green  arcades,  under  the  glossy 
foliage  where  oranges  gleamed  like  veritable  fruit  of  the  Hesperides, 
and  the  golden  blossoms  of  the  mimosa  swayed  to  the  soft  sea- 
breeze.  No  eye  but  his  own  marked  the  indescribable  shades  of 
color  on  the  wide  plain  that  spread  to  the  far  horizon  until  sea 
and  sky  melted  into  one  divine  harmony  of  tint.  No  glance  but 
his  own  followed  the  majestic  sweeping  curve  of  the  shore, 
watched  the  misty  amethyst  of  distant  mountains,  the  shimmering 
silver  light  on  nearer  olive-clad  slopes,  the  icy  glitter  of  Alpine 
summits  cutting  against  the  deep-blue  sky,  and  the  towers  on  far 
seaward  promontories.  Sunlight  was  dying  over  the  waters,  the 
enchanting  tints  of  twilight  were  at  hand.  Already  a  marvelous 
rosy  glow  lay  like  a  pathway  across  the  sea,  stretching  from  the 
pearly  headlands  of  Italy  to  remote  distance — a  pathway  that 
might  have  been  made  by  the  feet  of  Aphrodite  herself.  But  the 
presence  which  Waldegrave  had  once  fancied  beside  him  here 
would  come  no  more — not  even  in  fancy.  He  saw  instead  the 
pale,  disdainful  face  which  had  so  lately  confronted  him,  and  the 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  469 

cold  gentleness  with  which  Ir&ne  had  held  out  her  hand  in  a  fare- 
well that  she  meant  to  be  final. 

He  was  standing  by  the  marble  balustrade  of  the  terrace,  look- 
ing out  over  the  beauty  of  sea  and  sky — a  beauty  that  deepened 
momently — when  a  voice  beside  him  said,  "So,  Otto,  you  are 
back  again !  "  and,  turning,  he  faced  his  uncle. 

They  greeted  each  other  warmly — for  the  affection  between 
them  was  deep  and  sincere — and  then  Prince  Waldegrave  asked, 
like  Stanhope,  "Am  I  to  congratulate  you?  " 

The  young  man  shook  his  head.  "No,"  he  replied.  "She 
has  proved  immovable  and  implacable." 

"  Ah  !  " — Prince  Waldegrave's  countenance  changed — "  I 
feared  that  it  might  be  so.  I  am  sorry — for  you." 

"And  I  am  sorry — for  her,"  said  Waldegrave.  "If  it  were 
merely  a  disappointment  to  myself,  I  could  bear  it,  as  many  a  man 
has  had  to  bear  such  a  disappointment.  But  it  is  of  her  that  I 
think.  She  is  refusing  more  than  she  knows  or  can  understand, 
in  refusing  your  offer." 

"  She  is  refusing  much  more  in  declining  yours,"  said  his  uncle. 

"No,"  said  "Waldegrave,  "for  many  men  might  offer  her  love 
as  great  and  rank  as  high  as  mine.  But  no  one  besides  yourself 
can  offer  what  you  do." 

"  And  what  reason  does  she  give  for  refusing  it? " 

"  She  will  take  nothing  from  one  who  has  disowned  her  moth- 
er and  herself." 

"  Ah !  "  said  the  Prince,  again.  "  What,  then,  is  to  be  done  ? 
Have  you  anything  to  propose  ?  " 

"  I  have  one  thing  to  propose,"  Waldegrave  answered.  "  But 
it  is  a  forlorn  hope,  and  I  am  doubtful  whether  you  will  think 
of  it." 

"What  is  it?  "  asked  his  uncle.  "I  will  think  of  almost  any- 
thing that  may  secure  the  gratification  of  your  wishes."  This  was 
easier  than  to  say,  "  The  quieting  of  my  conscience." 

"  Will  you  make  your  offer  in  person  ? "  asked  Waldegrave. 
Then,  as  he  saw  surprise  and  disinclination  on  the  Prince's  face, 
he  went  on  quickly :  "  I  only  ask  you  to  think  of  it.  And  for  this 
reason — I  have  gained  some  personal  softening  toward  myself,  but 
toward  you  her  deep  and  passionate  resentment  is  so  great  that 


470  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

nothing  which  I  can  urge  has  any  effect  in  overcoming  it.  Yet 
it  must  be  overcome  if  she  is  ever  to  accept  what  I  earnestly  hope 
she  may  accept." 

"But,"  said  the  Prince,  after  a  moment's  silence,  "if  her  re- 
sentment is  so  intense,  how  can  you  imagine  that  a  personal  effort 
on  my  part  would  have  any  effect  upon  her  ?  " 

"  Because,  in  the  first  place,  it  is  a  propitiation  which  is  due  to 
one  who  has  been  deeply  wronged ;  and,  in  the  second  place,  there 
is  a  magnetism  in  a  personal  appeal  which  no  words  conveyed 
through  another  can  possess." 

"An  appeal,"  said  his  uncle,  a  little  haughtily,  "is  what  I  can 
not  condescend  to  make." 

"  Then,"  said  Waldegrave,  "  you  must  resign  all  hope  of  mak- 
ing reparation." 

The  Prince  walked  to  the  end  of  the  terrace,  turned  and  came 
back. 

"  I  confess,"  he  said,  "  that  I  do  not  understand  your  motive  for 
such  a  request.  If  she  has  softened  toward  you,  and  if  she  enter- 
tains a  deep  and  bitter  resentment  toward  me,  surely  you  are,  of 
the  two,  the  person  who  would  be  most  likely  to  have  influence 
with  her." 

"  It  is  mockery  to  speak  of  such  a  thing,"  answered  the  young 
man.  "  So  far  from  having  any  influence,  I  am  sure  that  she  will 
never  willingly  see  me  again.  But  if  I,  merely  by  personal  asso- 
ciation, have  softened  toward  myself  her  bitter  feeling,  what  might 
not'contact  with  you  effect  ? " 

"  Resentment  does  not  always  yield  to  contact,"  said  the 
Prince.  "  It  is  sometimes  intensified  by  it." 

"  That  is  impossible  in  this  case — Irene's  resentment  could  not 
be  intensified." 

"  And  yet  you  think  there  is  a  hope  that  it  might  yield  ? " 

"Hardly  a  hope — or,  as  I  have  said,  only  a  forlorn  one.  But 
I  think  that  neither  you  nor  I  would  wish  to  leave  untried  even 
the  forlornest  hope  of  inducing  her  to  accept  atonement  and  jus- 
tice." 

"I  am  more  anxious  that  she  shall  accept  you,"  said  the 
Prince,  slightly  smiling. 

"  And  I,"  said  "Waldegrave,  "  think  least  of  that.     It  is  true 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  471 

that  she  is  the  ideal  woman  to  me,  and  that  I  am  sure  I  shall 
never  find  another  who  will  take  the  place  in  my  heart  that  she 
holds :  it  is  also  true  that  I  have  not  resigned  all  hope  of  winning 
something  beside  the  tolerance  which  she  gives  me  now.  But  for 
the  present  I  have  put  thought  of  myself  aside.  What  I  desire 
most  ardently  is  that  she  may  take  the  rank  and  fill  the  position 
which  is  hers  by  right  of  birth." 

There  was  another  silence  before  the  Prince  said,  abruptly : 
" Tell  me  all  that  passed  between  you.  What  did  she  say?  " 

This  was  not  an  easy  task,  for  Waldegrave  shrank  from  repeat- 
ing Irene's  fiery  words.  It  was  necessary,  however,  that  they 
should  be  repeated,  since  he  did  not  wish  his  uncle  to  have  any 
doubt  of  the  depth  of  her  resentment.  When  he  had  described 
the  interview  as  faithfully  as  possible,  he  added : 

"In  all  this  she  reminded  me,  more  strongly  than  I  can  say,  of 
yourself.  The  will  that  is  arrayed  against  you  is  the  will  that  she 
has  inherited  from  you.  I  thought  I  had  never  seen  a  more  strik- 
ing likeness  of  child  to  parent  than  was  in  her  face  when  she 
stood  before  me,  a  picture  of  pride  and  resolution." 

"  Then,"  said  the  Prince,  "  it  is  a  will  that  I  ought  to  be  able 
to  bend.  I,  who  have  bent  the  wills  of  many  men,  could  hardly 
fail  with  that  of  a  mere  girl." 

"  This  mere  girl,"  said  Waldegrave,  "  has  a  strength  of  which 
you  do  not  reckon.  As  her  guardian  said  of  her  the  other  day, 
she  has  a  heart  of  steel,  which  may  break  but  will  not  bend." 

"  Then  why,"  demanded  his  uncle,  again,  "  do  you  wish  me 
to  make  a  vain  sacrifice  of  my  dignity  by  going  to  her  ? " 

"  Because,"  was  the  reply,  "  I  hope  that,  by  such  a  step,  you 
may  appeal  to  what  is  as  strong  as  her  will — her  generosity.  I 
have  never  known  a  nature  that  so  quickly  responds  to  a  noble 
thought  or  a  generous  deed.  I  have  spoken  of  her  softening 
toward  me— what  is  the  reason  of  it  ?  Simply  that  she  recognizes 
my  desire  to  atone,  and  something  of  unselfishness  in  my  love. 
What,  then,  will  she  feel  when  you,  her  father,  come  to  her  and 
hold  out  your  hand  with  reparation  in  it !  " 

Waldegrave's  voice  had  taken  its  deepest  tone  of  appeal  as  he 
uttered  these  words.  He  spoke  as  one  might  who  was  pleading 
in  some  cause  dear  as  life  itself.  At  that  moment  nobody  could 


472  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

have  called  his  face  cold ;  and  Prince  Waldegrave,  after  looking 
at  him  for  a  moment  in  unconscious  admiration,  said : 

"  Whatever  she  may  feel  toward  me,  she  will  be  blind  if  she 
continues  to  refuse  you,  Otto." 

" '  Sparta  has  many  a  worthier  son  than  I,'  "  said  Waldegrave, 
with  a  slight,  painful  smile.  He  thought  of  the  Marquis  de  Cha- 
teaumesnil,  but  it  was  no  part  of  his  present  intention  to  mention 
him  to  the  Prince.  He  felt  quite  sure  that  half  at  least  of  the 
latter's  desire  to  repair  his  daughter's  wrong  would  vanish  if  he 
knew  that  she  was  likely  after  all  to  marry  some  one  else,  and 
that  some  one  else  a  Frenchman,  instead  of  the  nephew  who  was 
to  him  an  adopted  son. 

Both  men  now  walked  up  and  down  the  terrace  silently  for 
some  time  before  Prince  Waldegrave  spoke  again.  Then  he  said, 
meditatively,  in  the  tone  of  one  who  is  drawing  reluctantly  to  a 
decision : 

"  If  I  go  to  Rome,  how  can  the  matter  be  kept  quiet  ?  I  mean 
my  presence  there." 

"  Oh,"  replied  Waldegrave,  "  that  shall  be  managed.  I  have 
a  servant  who  is  invaluable  for  such  work.  I  will  send  him  in 
advance,  and  he  can  arrange  everything  so  that  no  one  shall  know 
of  your  presence  in  Rome  whom  you  do  not  choose  to  enlighten." 

"  Let  him  start  to-night,  then,"  said  the  Prince,  "  and  we  will 
go  to-morrow.  I  have  no  fancy  for  delay.  Whatever  is  to  be 
done  should  be  done  at  once." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

AMONG  all  the  beautiful  and  suggestive  places  of  Rome,  the 
old  garden  of  the  Priorato,  on  the  crest  of  the  Aventine,  is  not 
least  beautiful,  and  certainly,  in  its  associations  and  memories, 
not  least  suggestive.  The  tourist  knows  it  from  the  famous  view 
of  St.  Peter's  which  is  to  be  had  through  the  key-hole  of  the 
gate — where  the  wondrous  dome  is  seen,  rising  in  purple  air  at 
the  end  of  a  green  vista  indefinitely  prolonged.  But,  when  those 
massive  gates  are  opened,  the  true  charm  begins.  A  beautiful 
avenue  of  old  bay-trees  stretches  before  the  gaze,  framing  in  its 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  473 

arch  of  foliage  that  distant,  soaring  dome — a  picture  never  to  be 
forgotten.  On  each  side  are  beds  of  flowers  and  masses  of  shrub- 
bery; but  no  one,  entering  for  the  first  time,  can  heed  them. 
The  most  careless  must  follow  the  avenue  as  it  leads  to  a  terrace 
overhanging  the  Tiber,  which  commands  a  view  of  the  river,  the 
Trastevere,  and — in  the  direct  line  of  vision,  as  a  bird  would  fly — 
the  glorious  pile  of  St.  Peter's,  backed  by  Monte  Mario,  with  its 
crown  of  cypresses. 

It  was  on  a  lovely  afternoon  that  Mrs.  Falconer  and  Irene 
found  themselves  here,  with  Stanhope  and  the  Marquis  de  Cha- 
teaumesnil.  A  sudden  rush  of  fragrance  met  them  as  they  en- 
tered the  gate,  and,  looking  up,  they  saw  that  the  bay -trees  over- 
head were  white  with  blossoms.  The  custodian  broke  off  one  for 
each  of  them,  and  Irene  fastened  hers  in  her  belt,  where  its  glossy, 
pointed  leaves  and  waxen  petals  showed  effectively  against  her 
black  dress. 

"  It  is  the  tree  of  glory,"  she  said,  looking  at  the  Marquis ; 
"  and  therefore  appropriate  here  in  this  garden  of  the  Knights  of 
Malta." 

"  It  could  scarcely  be  more  appropriate  anywhere  in  the  world," 
he  replied.  "  I  have  lately  been  glancing  over  the  history  of  the 
great  military  orders — especially  that  of  the  Knights  Hospitallers 
of  St.  John  of  Jerusalem,  now  called  the  Order  of  Malta — and  I 
know  of  nothing  to  equal  it  as  a  record  of  heroic  courage  and 
splendid  deeds." 

"  They  were  for  centuries  the  bulwark  of  Christendom,  saving 
its  fairest  lands  from  the  fate  of  Byzantium,"  said  Stanhope. 
"  The  debt  of  gratitude  which  Europe  owes  them  is  incalculable." 

"And  paid — how  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Falconer. 

"  As  such  debts  are  usually  paid,"  said  the  Marquis,  "  with 
forgetfulness  and  robbery.  The  forgetfulness  is  not  wonderful. 
They  were,  before  all  things,  soldiers  of  the  Cross — and  a  world 
which  has  turned  from  the  Cross,  and,  in  the  persons  of  its  leaders 
and  chief  teachers,  enthroned  humanity  in  the  place  of  God,  is 
not  likely  to  have  much  in  sympathy  with  them.  There  is  noth- 
ing by  which  a  man,  or  a  society,  can  be  judged  more  accurately 
than  by  the  objects  of  its  admiration.  Modern  society  worships  at 
the  feet  of  Mammon  and  of  Self.  It  can,  therefore,  no  more  con- 


474  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

ceive  the  motives  than  it  can  emulate  the  deeds  of  men  who  re- 
nounced worldly  gain  for  noble  ends,  and  denied  self  that  they 
might  serve  God  and  Christendom.  The  robbery  also  is  natural 
enough — considering  the  power  from  which  it  comes.  The  Island 
of  Malta,  aa  you  are  no  doubt  aware,  belongs  to  them  by  gift  of 
the  Emperor  Charles  V — hence  they  are  a  sovereign  order,  and 
their  Grand  Master  has  the  rank  of  a  sovereign  prince.  But 
Malta,  having  been  taken  by  France,  when  France  was  under 
worse  than  infidel  domination,  in  1798,  it  fell  by  conquest  into 
the  grasp  of  England ;  and,  although  by  the  Treaty  of  Amiens  its 
restoration  to  the  order  was  distinctly  stipulated,  England— faith- 
ful to  her  traditions— has  not  observed  the  guarantee  or  restored 
Hie  island." 

"The  order  still  exercises  sovereign  prerogatives,  however," 
said  Stanhope,  "  and  keeps  an  embassador  at  most  of  the  courts  of 
Europe." 

"I  have  seen  their  embassador  among  the  diplomatic  corps  at 
the  royal  entertainments  in  Vienna,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  A 
striking  figure,  with  a  white  cross  on  the  breast  of  his  gold  cuirass, 
and  the  ones  of  Malta  on  the  shoulder  of  his  black-velvet 
mantle." 

"Ah,  if  you  wish  to  see  a  noble  mediaeval  figure — one  that 
carries  the  mind  back  to  all  the  glories  of  chivalry  and  of  f  dth — 
you  should  see  the  Grand  Master  himself,"  said  Irene.  '•  I  saw 

him  the  day  I  went  with  the  Princess  M to  the  Cappella 

Papale in  the  Sistine  CbapeL  He  was  seated  in  the  royal  tribune, 
with  two  knights  in  waiting,  and  attended  by  a  Cameriere  di 
Spada  e  Cappa  and  a  guard  of  honor.  There  were  many  splendid 
and  picturesque  figures  present,  but,  until  the  Holy  Father  ap- 
peared, I  could  look  at  no  one  but  the  Grand  Master.  It  was  not 
only  his  appearance  that  fascinated  me,  bat  the  thought  of  all  that 
ie  represented— of  Jerusalem,  of  Acre,  of  Rhodes,  of  Malta,  of 
all  those  centuries  when  the  tide  of  Moslem  invasion  threatened 
Europe,  and  they  stood— those  glorious  soldiers— like  a  wall  of 
steel ! — and  made  the  crescent  bow  before  the  cross." 

"The  Sistine  Chapel  was  a  fine  place  for  such  memories,"  said 
Stanhope,  smiling  at  her  glowing  look. 

u  Was  it  not!  "  she  said,  quickly.    «'  Fancy  those  grand  fres- 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  475 

coes  of  Michael  Angelo  looking  down,  and  the  rich  color  and 
majestic  effect  of  the  whole  scene.  In  the  royal  tribune  there  was 
the  Grand  Master,  and  the  group  which  surrounded  him  could  not 
have  been  improved  by  a  tocch,  had  Michael  Angelo  himself 
wished  to  paint  them.  The  diplomatic  benches  were  filled  with 
embassadors  to  the  Vatican.  Then  came  the  Roman  nobility, 
and  a  sprinkling  of  distinguished  foreigners — all  in  court-dress; 
then  the  Cameriere  Segreti  in  tbeir  beautiful  dress  of  velvet  and 
lace — as  if  they  had  stepped  out  of  Titian's  pictures;  then  the 
magnificent  uniform  of  the  Noble  Guard,  the  scarlet  robes  of  the 
cardinals,  the  violet  of  the  prelates ;  and  in  the  midst  of  all — thrown 
out  by  this  glowing  color — one  slender,  stately  figure  in  pure  ivory- 
white." 

«•  With  what  a  face  of  steadfast  power  I "  said  Stanhope.  "  It 
has  none  of  that  beauty  of  feature  which  made  the  face  of  Pius 
IX  so  exquisite  and  memorable ;  but  if  ever  a  human  countenance 
was  expressive  of  intellectual  and  moral  force,  that  of  Leo  XIII 
is.  And  in  his  shadowy  thinness — in  that  look  which  he  has  of 
being  more  spirit  than  matter — with  the  courage  of  a  lion  in  his 
calm  glance,  and  the  sweetness  of  a  saint  on  his  lips,  his  is  just 
the  type  a  great  painter  would  select  if  this  epoch  were  thrown 
back  a  thousand  years,  and  he  wanted  to  embody  a  helmsman  fit 
to  steer  the  bark  of  Peter  through  raging  seas." 

"  It  is  impossible,''  said  the  Marquis,  "to  imagine  anything  more 
majestic  than  the  voice  and  the  utterances  of  Leo  XIII.  In  listen- 
ing to  him  one  feels  elevated  into  a  region  as  far  above  the  mad 
cries  of  revolutionaries  and  the  vague  dreams  of  theorists  as  the 
eternal  heaven  is  above  the  earth.  And  in  the  ability  of  a  great 
ruler,  in  diplomatic  sagacity  and  profound  wisdom,  no  one,  in  all 
the  long  line  of  illustrious  pontiffs,  has  surpassed  him." 

"None,  certainly,  have  been  surrounded  by  greater  perils  and 
difficulties,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer. 

" Oh,"  said  the  Marquis,  with  a  slight  smile,  "you  forget  that 
what  is  going  on  to-day  is  an  old  story — oft  repeated.  '  The  ser- 
vant is  not  greater  than  his  master ' — and  the  Pope  is  proved  the 
Vicar  of  Christ  by  nothing  more  than  by  the  persecutions  to 
which  in  all  ages  he  has  been  subjected.  As  divine  lips  have 
assured  us,  the  world  will  love  its  own ;  but  what  is  not  of  the 


476  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

world  it  will  revile  and  persecute.  Not  Gregory  VII  alone,  but 
many  another  Pope,  might  have  said,  '  I  have  loved  justice,  and 
hated  iniquity — therefore  I  die  in  exile.' " 

"  Apropos  of  Gregory  VII,"  said  Stanhope,  "  do  you  know  that 
this  garden  is  peculiarly  associated  with  him  ?  It  was  here  he 
was  brought  up  as  a  boy  under  the  care  of  his  uncle,  who  was 
abbot  of  the  adjoining  monastery." 

"Here!"  said  Irene,  looking  around.  "Here  he  walked — 
here  studied  and  dreamed,  and  fitted  himself  in  mind  and  heart 
for  the  great  struggle  that  lay  before  him — eight  hundred  years 
ago !  O  Borne,  Kome !  What  can  one  say  of  a  city  where  every 
rod  of  earth  has  such  thrilling  memories  and  far-reaching  asso- 
ciations ?  " 

"  One  can  be  grateful  for  recognizing  them,"  said  the  Marquis. 
"  Think  of  those  to  whom  the  glory  that  has  encircled  Rome  for 
more  than  a  thousand  years,  and  made  her  to  all  the  earth  a  Holy 
City,  means  nothing.  Those  to  whom  the  Forum  and  the  Capitol 
are  more  than  the  shrines  where  martyrs  poured  out  their  blood 
for  God — the  tomb  of  Cecilia  Metella  of  greater  interest  than  the 
tomb  of  the  Apostles — and  the  ruins  of  a  heathen  temple  better 
worth  study  than  the  noblest  Christian  basilica.  That  Christen- 
dom— beautiful  name,  expressing  a  more  beautiful  idea ! — found 
the  key-stone  of  its  arch  here,  is  a  fact  as  lost  to  their  memory  as 
it  is  meaningless  to  their  understanding.  They  are  like  children 
from  whom  an  inheritance  has  been  torn,  and  who,  standing  in 
their  father's  house,  know  it  not." 

They  had  now  come  to  the  terrace,  which,  bounded  by  a 
high  stone  parapet,  is  on  the  rocky  verge  of  the  hill  where  it  rises 
in  bold  escarpment  from  the  bank  of  the  river.  Bay-trees  droop 
over  it ;  and  there  is  a  seat  where,  with  the  Tiber  at  one's  feet, 
the  Janiculum  and  the  Vatican  before  one's  eyes,  one  may  sit  and 
let  the  enchantment  of  Rome  sink  into  one's  spirit. 

"Speaking  of  Christendom,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  as  she  sat 
down  on  this,  "I  was  reading  the  other  day  'Traits  and  Traves- 
ties,'* in  which  the  author  declares  that  Christendom  should  now 
be  called  anti-Christendom,  inasmuch  as  all  that  is  put  before 

*  This  is  a  slight  anachronism.  Mr.  Oliphant's  brilliant  book  had  not 
appeared  at  the  date  of  this  story. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  477 

modern  society  as  its  goal  is  directly  opposed  to  the  teaching  of 
Christ." 

"It  is  very  true,"  remarked  Stanhope.  "At  the  present  time 
there  is  not  a  single  government,  composing  that  which  was  once 
called  Christendom,  which  has  not  publicly  repudiated  the  Chris- 
tian basis.  As  I  have  observed  before,  the  god  which  the  nine- 
teenth century  worships  is  material  progress ;  and  of  a  worship 
so  debasing,  none  other  than  debasing  results  can  be  expected. 
Progress  is  a  word  of  very  attractive  sound ;  and  it  is  the  great 
shibboleth  of  our  age :  but  it  should  be  remembered  that  there 
are  two  kinds  of  progress — one  upward,  the  other  downward. 
And  no  progress  can  be  truly  regarded  as  upward  which,  while 
increasing  material  comfort  and  material  wealth,  while  multiply- 
ing means  of  transportation  and  inventing  Gatling  guns,  never- 
theless ignores  utterly  the  law  of  God  as  the  foundation  of  public 
order,  forgets  utterly  the  divine  precept  of  charity,  thrusts  the 
poor  out  of  sight,  to  find  them  rising  up  arrayed  in  the  awful 
vengeance  of  class-hatred,  and  teaches  men  that  they  are  not  the 
sons  of  God,  but  mere  animals,  destined  to  an  animal  end." 

"  Men  dit !  "  said  the  Marquis.  "  And  that  is  a  correct  state- 
ment of  the  progress  which  the  Catholic  Church  and  her  Supreme 
Pontiff  are  reviled  for  not  indorsing.  It  is  sad,"  he  went  on  after 
a  brief  pause,  "to  witness  the  rapid  disintegration  of  that  beauti- 
ful and  noble  fabric  of  Christian  states  that  established  the  splen- 
did civilization  to  which  we  owe  all  that  is  good  in  our  civil  and 
social  order.  The  civilization  which,  during  the  ages  that  the 
presumption  of  to-day  calls  '  dark,'  filled  Europe  with  houses  of 
learning,  founded  chivalry,  practiced  the  boundless  charity  toward 
Christ's  poor  which  runs  like  a  thread  of  gold  through  all  its  his- 
tory, and  left  in  the  great  monuments  of  its  genius,  achievements 
which  our  boastful  age  is  unable  even  to  imitate." 

"  I  often  wonder,"  said  Stanhope,  meditatively,  "  what  the 
generations  that  are  to  come  after  will  think  of  us  when  they  look 
at  our  architectural  achievements,  if  Ruskin's  dictum  is  to  be  ac- 
cepted, that  '  as  great  art  is  the  expression  of  the  mind  of  a  great 
man,  so  mean  art  is  of  the  want  of  mind  of  a  weak  man.'  " 

"  They  will  probably  think  with  another  writer  that  in  such 
achievements  they  see  'the  evidence  not  of  an  advancing  but  of  a 


>478  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

lost  civilization ' — unless  they,  too,  are  of  the  opinion  that  steam- 
engines  and  newspapers  constitute  civilization,"  said  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner. "  Why,  there  is  more  genius,  more  poetry,  more  thought, 
in  one  medieval  building  than  in  all  the  tame  and  idea-less  edi- 
fices of  modern  construction  put  together.  Go  to  an  ancient 
square  of  Antwerp  or  a  street  of  Nuremberg — then  think  of  Pic- 
cadilly or  the  Boulevard  Haussmann,  and  shudder !  " 

"  Or  go  yonder  into  the  Trastevere,  and  think  of  the  Via  Nazio- 
nale,  near  at  hand!  "  said  Irene.  " It  is  hard  that  such  barbarous 
forces  should  have  power,  even  for  a  day,  to  work  their  will  in 
Eome — our  Rome,  the  Eome  of  Christendom." 

"  Meanwhile  we  are  forgetting  how  beautiful  it  is — this  Rome 
— as  it  lies  below  us  now,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  As  she  spoke  she 
rose,  and,  followed  by  Stanhope,  walked  to  the  end  of  the  terrace, 
where  she  paused,  and,  leaning  over  the  parapet,  looked  down. 

Between  the  river  and  the  base  of  the  cliff— the  cliff  which 
is  the  supposed  site  of  the  cave  of  the  giant  Cacus  described  by 
Virgil — winds  the  carriage-road  which  leads  through  the  Porta 
San  Paolo  to  the  great  basilica  of  that  namQ,fuori  le  mura,  and 
on  to  Ostia.  Mrs.  Falconer  watched  one  or  two  carriages  and 
ox-carts  pass  along  this  road  before  saying  in  a  low  voice  to  Stan- 
hope, who  stood  beside  her : 

"  Let  us  go  and  look  at  the  church — did  you  not  say  it  was  in- 
teresting ?  We  can  return  here  presently." 

"Very  well,"  he  answered.  "I  will  speak  to  Irfene  and  the 
Marquis." 

"No — do  not!  "  she  said,  quickly.  And  as  he  looked  at  her, 
she  added,  with  a  smile,  "  How  stupid  men  are!  " 

"  Are  we  ?  "  he  asked,  returning  the  smile.  "  Well,  I  suppose 
so— but,  at  least,  we  are  docile  to  the  dictates  of  intelligence 
higher  than  our  own.  You  wish,  then,  to  go  without  them  ?  " 

"  I  wish  to  go  quietly,  and  let  them  follow  if  they  like— but 
they  will  not  follow." 

They  were,  indeed,  not  conscious  of  being  left  alone.  The 
Marquis,  having  taken  Mrs.  Falconer's  vacant  seat  beside  Irene, 
was  pointing  out  to  her  Santa  Cecilia  across  the  river  in  the 
Trastevere. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  479 

"  And  there  are  the  remains  of  the  Sublician  Bridge  almost  at 
our  feet,"  he  said.  "  Do  you  remember  that  you  spoke  of  it  the 
day  I  met  you  at  San  Pietro  in  Montorio  ?  And  yonder  is  San  Pie- 
tro.  How  boldly  it  stands  out  on  the  height  of  the  Janiculum !  " 

"Yes,"  she  said.  Her  gaze  followed  his  pointing  hand,  but 
he  could  see  that  a  shadow  had  fallen  across  her  delight  in  the 
beauty  of  the  prospect,  and  her  eyes  gathered  the  pathetic  sad- 
ness which  he  had  often  seen  in  them  before. 

"  I  remember  that  day,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  as  wistful  as  her 
look.  "  I  remember  how  we  agreed  that  it  is  well  to  be  in  Rome, 
because  all  wrong  and  all  sorrow  are  more  easily  borne  here  than 
elsewhere.  But  even  here  one  can  not  always  remember  'the 
brevity  of  human  injustice  and  the  steadfastness  of  eternal  truth.' 
There  are  times  when  the  sense  of  wrong  conquers  everything 
else ;  and  one  forgets,  oh !  one  forgets  in  an  hour  of  bitterness, 
the  tears  and  prayers  and  meditations  of  months." 

"And  do  you  think  that  to  conquer  one's  self— that  most  stu- 
pendous of  all  tasks — is  a  work  of  months  ?  "  he  asked,  with  grave 
gentleness.  "  It  is  rather  a  work  of  life." 

"  Then  what  a  happy  thing  it  would  be  if  life  were  over !  "  she 
said,  in  the  same  wistful  tone.  "Is  that  like  a  coward  wishing  to 
desert  a  battle  ?  But,  how  if  the  battle  is  too  fierce,  and  one  only 
falls  into  deeper  and  deeper  defeat  ?  When  I  enter  these  glorious 
old  churches,  and  stand  by  the  tombs  of  those  who  left  wrong 
and  struggle  so  long  ago,  I  can  only  envy  them." 

"  They  would  not  deserve  to  be  envied,  however,  if  they  had 
desired  to  throw  down  their  arms  because  the  battle  was  fierce," 
he  said.  "  And  it  is  not  like  you  to  feel  in  this  manner.  "Why 
should  you  look  at  life  so  sadly — you  who  are  fitted  for  its  bright- 
est sunshine  ? " 

"Because  the  sunshine  is  darkened  for  me,  by  wrong  without 
and  bitterness  within,"  she  answered.  "Forgive  me,  if  I  tell  you 
nothing  more." 

He  hesitated  a  moment — it  seemed  to  him  that  the  time  had 
come  to  speak.  He  glanced  around  and  saw  the  terrace  deserted. 
Mrs.  Falconer  and  Stanhope  had  disappeared.  Then  he  turned 
back  to  Irene. 

"Forgive  me"  he  said,  "if  I  tell  you  that  I  know — all  that 


480  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

there  is  to  know  regarding  you.  I  know  the  story  of  the  wrong 
from  which  you  have  suffered,  and  I  feel  for  you  with  every  throb 
of  my  heart.  But  what  I  do  not  know — what  I  do  not  acknowl- 
edge— is  that  there  is  any  reason  why  you  should  allow  it  to 
darken  one  ray  of  the  sunshine  of  your  life." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  face  that  had  suddenly  grown  paler. 
"  So,  you  know !  "  she  said,  in  a  low  tone.  u  "Well — it  does  not 
matter.  Every  one  knows,  I  presume.  And  the  fact  that  the 
thought  of  such  knowledge  in  the  mind  of  another  is  like  fire 
near  a  burn  to  me,  proves  only  my  pride.  But  that  answers  what 
you  have  said.  Such  tortured  pride  is  enough  to  darken  any  sun- 
shine." 

"  I  think  not,"  he  said.  "  I  think  there  may  be  a  sunshine 
warm  enough  and  broad  enough  to  banish  even  that." 

"You  think  so,"  she  answered,  "because  you  do  not  under- 
stand. If  pride  were  all,  I  grant  that  it— being  only  a  form  ot 
self-love — might  be  overcome.  But  you  do  not  know  all  that  is 
enlisted  in  the  struggle." 

"I  know  more  than  you  imagine,  perhaps,"  he  said;  "and 
my  counsel  would  be  this :  Put  the  memory  aside,  try  to  forget 
the  wrong ;  do  not  suffer  it  to  triumph  over  you  by  darkening 
your  life  and  your  nature." 

"That  would  be  good  counsel,"  she  said,  "if  I  could  follow  it. 
But  everything  prevents.  Influences  have  come  around  me  in  an 
unexpected  manner.  The  struggle  has  been  kept  alive  and  re- 
newed when  I  was  trying  most  to  forget.  I  have  been  brought 
face  to  face  with  the  question — not  whether  I  would  accept  any- 
thing, for  that  could  never  be  a  question  with  me — but  whether  I 
could  forgive,  as  I  promised  one  who  was  dying  that  I  would  try 
to  do."  She  paused  and  looked  at  him  with  an  expression  of  pain. 
"  Did  you  ever  hear,"  she  went  on,  "  that  saying  of  St.  Francis 
de  Sales,  '  Blessed  are  the  hearts  that  bend,  for  they  shall  never 
break '  ?  I  think  mine  must  surely  break — for  it  can  not  bend." 

"  Even  in  breaking,"  he  said,  "  there  is  sometimes  hidden  a 
blessing.  But  I  would  desire  to  spare  you  any  blessing  which 
comes  in  the  guise  of  pain."  He,  too,  paused — hesitated  an  in- 
stant—then continued,  with  earnest  feeling :  "  If  you  will  let  me,  I 
will  take  you  far  from  all  influences  that  disturb  you — far  from 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  481 

the  shadow  of  wrong  that  darkens  your  life.  If  you  will  give  me 
your  heart,  you  need  never  bestow  another  thought  on  the  father 
who  has  treated  you  with  such  cruel  injustice." 

She  was  so  much  surprised  that  at  first  she  hardly  grasped  his 
meaning.  Her  eyes  dilated  as  she  gazed  at  him,  before  she  said  : 

"  I  do  not  understand — it  is  impossible  that  you  can  mean — " 

"I  mean,"  he  said,  as  she  stopped,  "that  I  love  you,  and  that 
it  will  be  the  happiness  of  my  life  if  you  can  care  for  me  in  return. 
I  mean  that  I  shall  find  a  new  value  for  my  name  and  rank  if  you 
will  take  them — and  forget  those  of  which  you  have  been  de- 
frauded." 

He  spoke  with  tender  ardor — in  a  voice  that  few  women  could 
have  heard  unmoved.  And  Irene  was  not  one  of  the  few.  She 
was  deeply  moved — although  she  sat  silent  and  motionless  for  a 
minute.  But  silence  may  be  the  most  significant  token  of  emo- 
tion, and  suddenly  a  shower  of  crystal  drops  fell  from  her  eyes  to 
her  black  dress. 

"  Irene  !  "  cried  the  Marquis,  making  a  movement  to  take  her 
hand. 

But  she  drew  back;  though,  when  she  lifted  her  eyes,  they 
were  shining  with  light  through  the  moisture  that  still  suffused 
them. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  said,  gently,  "what  it  is  when  you  hear 
of  a  great  deed  or  a  noble  thought,  to  feel  your  heart  stir  and 
your  eyes  fill  with  tears?  So  I  have  felt  in  listening  to  you — in 
realizing  that  you  are  indeed  offering  your  old  name  and  high 
rank  to  me — who  have  neither !  " 

"  But  you  will  take  them  ?  "  he  said,  eagerly.   "  Tell  me  that !  " 

"  I  can  not  tell  you  that,"  she  answered ;  "  because  it  is  impos- 
sible that  I  can  take  them.  I  should  feel  that  I  had  done  you  a 
wrong  and  an  injustice  if  I  did;  for  the  time  might  come  when 
you  would  ask  yourself  whether  such  a  sacrifice  had  been  well 
made." 

"  There  is  no  sacrifice  involved,"  he  said ;  "  and,  if  there  were, 
do  you  think  that  a  man  who  has  reached  my  age,  and  sounded 
the  depths  of  all  that  the  world  offers,  does  not  know  what  is 
best  worth  securing  and  retaining  ?  You  have  made  life  a  new 
thing  to  me  since  I  have  known  yon.  I  was  like  one  who  had 


482  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

wandered  far  into  an  arid  desert,  to  whom  a  radiant  messenger 
came  and  led  him  again  to  the  region  of  morning  freshness,  of 
hope  and  enthusiasm.  Faith  I  had  not  lost ;  but  it  had  grown  to  be 
with  me  a  matter  of  the  head  rather  than  of  the  heart.  I  believed 
in  God  and  his  Church,  because  I  could  not  stultify  my  intellect 
with  the  impious  and  illogical  follies  of  unbelief.  But  devotion, 
which  is  the  better  part  of  faith,  was  something  which  I  had  for- 
gotten until  you  showed  it  to  me  again.  You  have  wakened  my 
heart  out  of  a  lethargy  so  deep  that  I  thought  it  dead,  and  given 
back  to  me  the  youth  I  had  fancied  for  ever  gone.  Surely,  then, 
having  done  all  this,  you  will  not  refuse  to  give  me  yourself?  " 

She  had  listened  to  bim  eagerly,  her  eyes  still  shining  with  the 
moisture  of  quick-rising  tears ;  but,  at  the  last  words,  she  shook 
her  head. 

"  I  think,"  she  said,  "  that  I  would  have  courage  to  refuse, 
even  if  I  loved  you.  Yet  I  thank  you  none  the  less  for  holding 
me  worthy  of  such  homage.  I  am  not.  But  that  does  not  matter. 
You  believe  me  to  be  so ;  and  you  prove  your  own  worth  in  every 
word  that  you  utter.  For  it  seems  to  me  that  in  nothing  more 
than  in  their  mode  of  loving  do  men  show  what  they  are.  You 
are  most  noble,  and  worthy — I  have  always  felt  it — of  all  that  is 
highest  and  best.  That  includes  the  love  of  a  woman.  But  I 
have  no  love  for  you." 

"  None !  "  he  asked,  in  a  tone  of  deep  pain. 

"None,"  she  answered.  "I  have  no  heart,  save  that  which  is 
torn  with  bitterness  and  conflicting  passion.  If  I  married  you — 
if  it  were  possible  that  I  could  do  so — I  should  never  cease  to 
remember  that  I  had  taken  the  shadow  of  my  wrong  to  one  whoso 
name  should  shine  in  men's  eyes  undimmed  by  any  shadow.  There 
is  a  brilliant  future  before  you — I  am  sure  of  it — and  you  must 
have  no  weight  on  your  career.  Say  that  the  day  of  brightness, 
the  fulfillment  of  hope,  came  to  France.  How  could  you  present 
to  your  king  one  whom  her  father  had  disowned — and  that  father 
the  life-long  enemy  of  France  ?  No,  M.  le  Marquis — I  repeat,  that 
even  if  I  loved  you,  I  would  have  courage  to  refuse  to  marry  you/' 

He  thought  that  he  could  never  forget  her  face  as  she  looked 
at  him,  speaking  these  words — the  mingled  fire  and  sweetness  that 
was  in  her  glance.  He  felt  as  if  he  could  almost  see  the  clear 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  483 

shining  of  the  generous  soul,  and  the  strong  foundation  on  which 
her  resolution  rested. 

"  If  you  loved  me,"  he  said,  after  a  moment,  "  if  there  were 
any  hope  that  you  would  ever  love  me,  I  would  prove  to  you  that 
all  this  amounts  to  nothing.  Instead  of  casting  any  shadow  on 
my  career,  you  would  aid  it  in  the  fullest  degree.  With  you  to 
inspire  my  purpose,  and  keep  alive  the  high-heartedness  which  is 
essential  for  greatness  in  any  true  sense,  I  might  do  much.  But, 
without  you — " 

"  Without  me,"  she  said,  as  he  paused,  "  you  will  do  as  much 
as  you  could  do  with  me.  For  you  wrong  yourself  in  thinking 
that  what  you  will  achieve  depends  on  any  inspiration  save  that 
which  is  within  yourself.  The  heart,  fit  for  great  achievements, 
is  in  your  own  breast ;  and  the  mind  that  is  made  to  grasp  the 
highest  thought  needs  no  help  from  one  who  is  only  fitted  to 
receive  it.  If  I  have  indeed  had  any  share  in  waking  you  from 
the  lethargy  which  follows  the  vain  pursuit  of  pleasure,  I  am  more 
than  glad — I  am  deeply  grateful ;  but  there  my  influence  ends. 
And  I  think  you  overrate  it  there.  It  is  Rome,  with  her  thousand 
voices  of  glory  and  faith,  and  all  that  lies  beyond  a  mere  ignoble 
life  for  self,  which  has  waked  you — once  and  for  ever." 

"  But  you  have  been  the  living  voice  of  these  things,"  he  said. 
"  They  have  indeed  touched  me ;  but  it  has  been  through  your 
words  and  your  eyes." 

"You  may  think  so  now,"  she  said;  "  but  you  are  mistaken. 
On  the  contrary,  you  have  taught  me  to  see  much  that  I  might 
else  have  left  unseen,  to  feel  much  that  I  might  else  have  left  un- 
felt.  And  of  all  those  who  will  watch  your  name  in  the  coming 
time,  there  will  be  none  whose  interest  will  be  deeper  than  hers 
to  whom  you  would  have  given  it." 

"  To  whom  I  can  not  resign  the  hope  of  giving  it,"  he  said. 
"Do  you  not  see  that  you  were  born  to  fill  a  high  position?  You 
have  every  mark  of  an  exalted  destiny ;  you  are  fitted  to  adorn 
the  most  exalted  rank.  You  have  no  right  to  doom  yourself  to 
obscurity,  because  of  an  injustice  which  even  the  author  of  it  is 
anxious  to  repair." 

"  But  from  him  I  will  take  no  reparation,"  she  said,  proudly. 

"  Believe  that  I  would  never  ask  you  to  take  more  than  the 


484  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

acknowledgment  of  the  absolute  purity  of  your  birth.  That  is 
your  right.  It  is  no  favor  from  Prince  Waldegrave." 

"  It  is  a  right  which  he  can  give  or  withhold  at  his  pleasure," 
she  said,  "  and  therefore  I  will  have  none  of  it.  Do  you  think 
that  if  any  legal  remedy  had  lain  in  my  hands,  if  I  could  have 
forced  him  by  any  means  whatever  to  repair  the  injustice,  that  I 
would  not  have  done  so  ?  But  I  will  not  take  even  justice  from 
him — as  a  gift." 

What  could  the  Marquis  reply  ?  It  was  now  his  turn  to  come 
in  contact  with  the  unbending  will  against  which  every  one  else 
had  made  vain  trial  of  strength.  But,  wiser  than  most  of  those 
who  had  preceded  him,  he  felt  instinctively  that  words  were  use- 
less. So,  for  a  time,  silence  fell.  As  the  sun  sank  toward  the 
west,  all  the  city  at  their  feet  was  flooded  with  light,  and  more 
than  one  gleaming  cross  appeared  to  flash  in  the  level  rays.  On 
this  high  rocky  terrace  they  were  as  if  hung  in  mid-air,  with  an 
exquisite  stillness  all  around  them,  and  an  atmosphere  of  heroic 
memories,  as  distinct  as  the  perfume  of  the  blossoms  of  the  bay- 
trees  over  their  heads. 

It  was  Ir£ne  who  at  length  broke  the  spell.  "I  shall  alv.-ays 
be  glad,"  she  said,  in  her  clear,  sweet  voice,  "  to  remember  the 
hours  that  we  have  spent  together  among  these  scenes.  And  in 
the  memory  there  will  be  nothing  that  I  could  wish  to  change — 
I  mean,  in  my  memory  of  you.  It  is  not  often  that,  when  we 
paint  a  character  to  ourselves  in  noble  lines,  it  keeps  those  lines 
unmarred  by  any  closeness  of  association.  Yours  has  done  so. 
I  thought  yon  all  that  a  high-born  Frenchman  should  be — and 
could  words  say  more  ? — when  I  knew  you  first.  I  have  found 
you  so  at  all  times  and  in  all  things,  and  never  more  so  than  to- 
day— when  you  have  offered  your  brilliant  rank  and  stainless 
name  to  one  who  would  be  proud  to  wear  them  if  fate  had  been 
kinder  to  her,  and  if  she  could  have  given  you  her  heart  in  return." 

At  the  first  sound  of  her  voice  he  had  turned  quickly  toward 
her,  and  during  her  speech  his  dark,  deep  eyes  were  reading  her 
face  as  if  intent  to  pierce  through  any  mask  to  the  soul  below. 
But  there  was  no  mask.  The  eyes  which  met  his  were  clear  and 
candid  as  the  sky  above,  and  he  read  in  them  no  shadow  of  hope. 
TV  hen  she  finished  he  could  only  say : 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  485 

"  And  this  is  all  ?  Will  you  not  even  take  time  for  thought — 
for  consideration  ?  " 

"  Why  should  I? "  she  asked.  "  I  could  never  give  any  other 
answer  than  1  have  given  now.  To  prolong  the  matter  would 
only  be  to  deceive  you,  and  cause  us  both  useless  pain." 

"  I  will  do  nothing,  urge  nothing,  that  could  cause  yon  that," 
he  said.  "  My  most  earnest  desire  has  been  to  relieve  you  of  all 
pain,  and  my  deepest  regret  is  that  you  will  not  suffer  me  to  do 
so."  He  paused,  and  looked  away  toward  the  majestic  dome 
which  seems  ever  more  of  heaven  than  of  earth,  and  which  was 
now  relieved  against  a  sky  of  still  and  splendid  gold.  "  I  feel," 
he  said,  u  like  one  who  is  standing  on  the  threshold  of  a  new  life — 
a  life  that  I  must  enter  alone.  I  have  dreamed  of  a  companion- 
ship so  high  and  tender  that  it  would  sweeten  any  path  of  diffi- 
culty ;  but  I  shall,  instead,  have  only  a  memory  to  carry  with 
me.  It  is,  however,  a  memory  as  white  and  fragrant  as  the  flower 
you  wear  in  your  girdle.  Will  you  give  me  that  ?  "  He  held  out 
his  hand.  "  It  will  speak  to  me  at  once  of  sweetness  and  of  glory 
— the  sweetness  that  is  denied  to  me,  and  the  glory  that  may  be 
won  by  all  who  can  forget  self  in  noble  effort." 


CHAPTER  XH. 

PKINCE  WALDEGRAVE  had  gone  to  many  decisive  interviews 
v.-ith  great  ministers,  to  many  important  cabinet  councils,  with 
fewer  misgivings,  and  less  doubt  of  his  own  power,  than  he  felt 
in  approaching  the  interview  with  his  daughter.  As  he  had  con- 
fessed to  Otto  in  their  first  conversation,  he  would,  under  any 
circumstances,  have  seen  her  with  reluctance.  He  was  prepared 
to  do  so,  however,  in  fulfillment  of  a  painful  duty,  and  to  gratify 
one  who  had  taken  the  place  of  a  son  in  his  heart.  But  now  that 
atonement  was  made  heavier  to  him — now  that  he,  accustomed 
to  command,  was  required  to  fill  the  position  of  a  suppliant— his 
reluctance  increased  many  fold ;  and  when  he  found  himself  in 
Rome  he  was  ready  to  regret  that  he  had  come.  It  was  too  late 
to  recede,  however,  and  since  he  was  exceedingly  anxious  that 
his  presence  should  not  be  discovered  by  many  who  would  attach 


486  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

extreme  political  significance  to  it,  he  was  also  anxious  that  the 
interview  to  which  he  was  committed  should  be  over  as  soon  as 
possible.  The  morning  after  his  arrival,  therefore,  while  Walde- 
grave  and  himself  sat  together  at  breakfast,  he  said : 

"  I  wish  to  leave  Rome  within  twenty-four  hours,  Otto,  and 
consequently  whatever  is  to  be  done  should  be  done  quickly. 
Tell  me  where  I  am  to  go,  and  how  to  see  the  person  whom  I 
have  come  to  see." 

"  It  is  very  easy  to  tell  you  where  to  go,"  answered  Walde- 
grave.  "  Mrs.  Falconer's  apartment  is  in  the  Via  Gregorian  a. 
But  I  can  not  so  easily  tell  you  how  to  see  Irene.  It  was  only  by 
stratagem  that  I  was  enabled  to  see  her  last,  and  I  am  sure  that 
it  will  require  stratagem  to  make  her  see  you.  The  best  thing 
will  be  for  me  to  go  to  Mrs.  Falconer  and  enlist  her  aid.  Noth- 
ing can  be  accomplished  without  it." 

"And  I—?  "  asked  the  Prince. 

"You  will  follow  in  half  an  hour.  Luigi  will  have  a  carriage 
in  readiness  for  you." 

Notwithstanding  these  confident  arrangements,  it  was  with 
many  doubts  that  the  young  Count  presented  himself  at  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner's door,  where  Antonio  informed  him  that  the  signora  did 
not  receive  at  this  hour. 

"Nevertheless,"  said  Waldegrave,  "take  my  card  to  her,  and 
say  that  it  is  not  without  good  reason  that  I  beg  her  to  make  an 
exception  in  my  favor." 

His  tone  and  manner  were  effective.  He  was  shown  into  the 
richly  draped  sala,  while  Antonio  vanished  with  his  card.  Nor 
had  he  long  to  wait  for  a  response.  In  a  few  minutes  there  was 
the  slight  sound  of  a  distant  closing  door,  and  down  the  long  vista 
of  rooms  Mrs.  Falconer's  graceful  figure  came.  She  received  him, 
as  he  hastened  to  meet  her,  with  a  cordial  smile. 

"  You  will  pardon  me,  I  hope,  for  intruding  at  this  hour  when 
you  learn  why  I  have  ventured  to  do  so,"  he  said. 

"There  is  no  need  of  pardon,"  she  answered,  kindly.  "  I  can 
imagine  why  you  have  come.  You  wish  me  to  aid  you  in  seeing 
Ir&ne — is  it  not  so  ?  " 

"I  wish  to  ask  your  aid  in  that  manner,"  he  replied,  "but  not 
for  myself.  It  is  Prince  Waldegrave  now  who  wishes  to  see  her." 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  437 

"  Indeed !  "  Although  prepared  for  this,  Mrs.  Falconer  could 
not  repress  a  slight  indication  of  astonishment.  "So  he  has 
come !  "  she  said. 

"He  has  come— to  see  his  daughter  and  induce  her  to  accept 
what  she  refused  when  offered  through  me,"  Waldegrave  an- 
swered. 

"  What  she  refused  when  offered  through  you,  she  is  not  likely 
to  accept  from  the  father  who  is  the  object  of  her  bitterest  feel- 
ing," said  Mrs.  Falconer,  gravely.  "  Are  you  not  aware  of  that  ?  " 

"I  am  aware,"  ho  replied,  "that  the  issue  of  the  attempt  is 
doubtful ;  but  failure  means  nothing  worse  than  the  result  of  inac- 
tion. "When  that  is  the  case,  failure  must  be  risked.  And  my 
uncle  is  prepared  to  risk  it  rather  than  leave  any  means  untried 
to  induce  her  to  accept  what  is  atonement  from  him,  but  justice 
for  herself." 

"  Yon  put  it  well,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer — touched,  as  Stanhope 
had  been,  by  the  young  man's  face  and  voice — "  but  Irene  is  reso- 
lutely determined  not  to  accept  even  justice  from  Prince  Walde- 
grave." 

"I  know  it,"  he  answered;  "but  I  trust  that  her  resolution 
will  melt  when  she  is  brought,  face  to  face  with  her  father.  When 
she  sees  what  he  is  willing  to  do — how  far  he  is  willing  to  go — in 
the  effort  to  repair  wrong,  the  generosity  of  her  nature  must  as- 
sert itself,  and  she  must  feel  that  to  accept  atonement  is  often  as 
great  a  duty  as  to  make  it.'1 

Mrs.  Falconer  shook  her  head.  She  remembered  some  words 
of  Irene's  on  that  subject. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  discourage  you,"  she  said,  "  but  I  must  prepare 
you  for  disappointment  by  assuring  you  that  you  entirely  under- 
rate the  force  of  resentment  which  is  arrayed  against  you." 

"  There  are  also  some  forces  that  will  fight  on  our  side,"  he 
said.  "  You  must  be  aware  of  that." 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  "but  those  forces  are  for  the  time  in 
abeyance — dominated  by  the  keen  sense  of  injury.  However, 
I  will  say  no  more ;  and  I  only  hope  that  the  result  may  prove  me 
mistaken.  One  thing,  at  least,  is  certain — since  Prince  Walde- 
grave  is  here,  there  must  be  no  obstacle  to  his  seeing  his  daugh- 
ter." 


488  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"  Do  you  think  it  possible  that  she  will  consent  to  see  him  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not.  The  interview,  so  far  as  she  is  concerned, 
can  only  be  effected  by  stratagem." 

"  I  feared  as  much,  and  for  that  reason  I  have  come  to  beg 
your  assistance—  without  which  we  can  do  nothing." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  Irene  will  never  forgive  me  if  I  betray  her 
again,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  "  but  that  can  not  be  helped.  This 
is  one  of  the  supreme  opportunities  of  h'fe.  Indeed,  there  are  not 
many  lives  to  which  such  an  opportunity  comes — one  so  fraught 
with  important  consequences."  She  paused  a  moment,  then  add- 
ed, with  a  smile :  "  You  will  let  me  offer  my  best  wishes  for  your 
cause,  M.  le  Comte.  I  think  you  deserve  to  win  all  that  you 
desire.  Frankly  speaking,  I  have  not  always  been  on  your  side. 
I  would  have  preferred  to  see  Irene  accept  the  Marquis  de  Clia- 
teaumesnil — but  she  has  rejected  him." 

Waldegrave  started.  Something  like  an  electric  shock  of  joy 
ran  through  him.  He  had  hardly  owned  to  himself  how  much 
he  had  feared  M.  de  Chateaumesnil  as  a  rival. 

"  He  has  left  Rome,"  Mrs.  Falconer  went  on  ;  "  gone  to  Frohs- 
dorf,  to  see  the  king  and  console  himself  with  loyalty  for  the  fail- 
ure of  love.  I  confess  that  I  was  so  disappointed  I  was  absolutely 
angry  with  Irene.  But  she  declares  her  intention  nevej1  to  marry 
— and  if  any  man  is  destined  to  make  her  forswear  snch  a  resolu- 
tion, you  must  be  that  man." 

"  I  have  not  much  hope  of  it,"  he  said.  "  Her  resolutions,  as 
we  are  aware,  rest  on  firm  grounds.  And,  indeed,  for  the  pres- 
ent, I  have  put  thought  of  myself  aside.  I  desire  only  that  she 
shall  accept  her  rightful  place  in  the  world — and,  even  more,  that 
she  shall  rise  above  the  bitterness  that  is  so  unworthy  of  her." 

"Ah,  you  can  not  put  yourself  in  her  place.  You  do  not 
know  how  deeply  the  iron  has  entered  into  her  soul — how  pas- 
sionate love  for  her  mother  takes  the  form  of  passionate  partisan- 
ship for  that  mother's  wrong." 

"  I  think  that  I  realize  it  all,"  he  said,  gravely.  "  It  is  because 
I  realize  it  that  I  am  so  anxious  for  atonement  to  be  made.  That 
brings  me  back  to  my  uncle.  He  will  be  here  very  soon.  May  I 
ask  how  you  intend  that  Irene  shall  be  brought  to  see  him? " 

"  It  can  only  be  in  one  way — I  shall  send  for  her  to  coine  to 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  489 

me,  and  she  will  find  Prince  Waldegrave.  It  will  be  a  shock  to 
her ;  but  no  preparation  is  possible,  because  she  would,  undoubt- 
edly, refuse  to  see  him." 

"  There  must  be  no  risk  of  her  doing  that,"  said  Waldegrave. 
"  She  must  see  him.  All  my  hope  is  centered  now  on  the  effect 
of  his  personal  influence." 

"  I  wish  it  were  centered  upon  something  more  likely  to  suc- 
ceed," said  Mrs.  Falconer;  "but,  at  least,  the  trial  shall  be  made 
conclusively." 

"I  ask  no  more,"  said  Waldegrave.  And  then,  as  the  door- 
bell sounded,  he  added,  "  There  he  is." 

A  few  minutes  later  a  servant  came  to  Irene  with  a  message 
from  Mrs.  Falconer,  desiring  her  presence.  It  chanced  that  there 
had  been  some  arrangements  discussed  between  them  for  musical 
practice ;  and,  supposing  that  this  was  what  the  summons  meant, 
Irene  made  no  inquiry,  but  at  once  obeyed.  Of  late  she  had 
neglected  her  voice ;  but  she  felt  this  morning  the  stirring  of  har- 
mony, as  if  it  would  be  a  pleasure  to  pour  out  her  soul  on  the 
wings  of  song.  She  took  up  some  sheets  of  music,  therefore,  and 
walked  quickly  down  the  suite  of  apartments  to  the  grande  sola. 
It  was  not  until  she  stood  in  the  door-way  of  this,  that  she  became 
aware  that  Mrs.  Falconer  was  not  alone,  that  a  man  of  noble  and 
distinguished  appearance  was  with  her. 

Did  some  instinct  tell  the  girl  at  once  who  this  was?  Cer- 
tainly she  paused,  and  would  have  retreated  more  quickly  than 
she  came,  if  Mrs.  Falconer  had  not  turned,  advanced,  and,  taking 
her  hand,  led  her  forward. 

u  Here  is  one,  my  dear,  who  wishes  to  see  you ;  and  who  has 
a  right  to  do  so,"  she  said.  And  then,  with  a  whispered  "For- 
give me !  "  she  passed  swiftly  from  the  room. 

Irene  made  no  effort  to  follow.  Indeed,  the  thought  of  escape 
did  not  present  itself  to  her  mind.  She  only  felt  an  intuitive  con- 
viction that  the  man  who  was  to  her  the  embodiment  of  evil,  the 
father  whom  she  had  never  been  conscious  of  seeing,  was  now 
before  her.  There  was  repulsion,  yet  there  was  also  fascination 
in  the  thought.  She  stood  motionless  where  Mrs.  Falconer  had 
left  her,  her  head  thrown  back  a  little,  her  hands,  as  they  hung 
before  her,  clasping  tightly  the  roll  of  music,  and  her  proud,  clear 


490  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

glance  meeting,  without  a  shadow  of  wavering,  the  piercing  gaze 
which  was  fastened  on  her. 

And  what  did  Prince  Waldegrave  feel  in  seeing  himself  thus 
confronted  ?  But  for  those  haughty,  limpid  eyes,  he  might  almost 
have  fancied  himself  once  more  in  the  presence  of  the  wife  he  had 
renounced.  Yet  he  was  also  conscious  in  every  fiber  that  this 
_girl  was  his  daughter ;  he  saw  the  signs  of  lineage ;  he  recognized 
his  own  spirit  in  the  dauntless  glance,  that  never  faltered ;  and, 
realizing  this,  he  realized  also,  for  the  first  time,  what  his  life  had 
lost.  For  here,  instead  of  reverence,  was  defiance;  instead  of 
affection,  hatred ;  instead  of  the  sweet  tie  of  parent  and  child, 
injured  and  injurer  standing  face  to  face. 

It  seemed  to  both  of  them  that  they  stood  so  for  a  long  time 
before  a  word  was  spoken.  Then  Prince  Waldegrave  extended 
his  hand,  saying : 

uMy  daughter — do  you  know  who  I  am?" 

His  voice  broke  the  spell  that  had  held  Irene  motionless.  She 
drew  back  a  step,  as  if  fearing  that  he  might  touch  her. 

"There  is  no  one  in  the  world — now — who  has  the  right  to 
call  me  that,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  concentrated  tone.  "I  presume 
that  you  are  Prince  Waldegrave.  But  I  am  unable  to  imagine  why 
you  are  here." 

A  wall  of  ice  could  not  have  been  a  more  sensible  barrier  than 
that  which  these  words  created ;  and  if  Waldegrave  had  not  suf- 
fi  oiently  impressed  his  uncle  with  the  difficulty  of  the  undertaking 
before  him,  he  would  have  been  impressed  with  it  now.  There 
was  another  pause  before  he  answered — gravely,  and  as  if  weigh- 
ing his  utterances : 

"I  am  here  in  the  fulfillment  of  what  I  feel  to  be  a  duty — to 
offer,  in  my  own  person,  what  you  have  refused  when  offered 
through  another ;  to  give,  if  you  will  accept  it,  a  father's  care  and 
affection ;  to  restore  to  you  a  birthright,  which  has  been  too  long 
withheld.  I  wish  to  do  all  that  lies  in  my  power  to  atone  for  the 
past,  if  you,  on  your  part,  will  forget  it." 

"  Forget  itl  "  the  girl  repeated,  in  the  same  concentrated  tone, 
as  of  one  who  maintains  calmness  by  a  supreme  effort.  "  Has  it 
occurred  to  you  to  think  what  that  would  mean?  I  should  have 
to  cut  out  of  my  life,  as  if  it  had  never  been,  all  that  antedates 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  491 

this  moment.  I  must  efface  all  memory  of  my  mother,  whoso 
long  martyrdom  for  my  sake  I  now  comprehend,  and  whose  grave 
lies  freshly  behind  me.  I  must  make  myself  over  into  a  new  per- 
son, and  not  keep  even  a  recollection  of  the  Irene  Lescar  who  felt 
that  she  would  be  the  most  ignoble  creature  on  earth  if  she  could 
take  for  herself  the  justice  which  was  denied— which  is  still  denied 
— one  whose  wrong  was  deeper,  whose  suffering  keener,  than  her 
own.  That  is  what  f orgetfulness  of  the  past  would  mean  for  me. 
Judge,  therefore,  whether  or  not  I  am  likely  to  forget  it." 

There  was  fire  in  her  glance  as  it  met  his  own  now,  and,  look- 
ing at  her  as  she  stood  before  him,  her  slight  figure  updrawn  like 
that  of  a  young  queen,  he  understood  the  fascination  which  had 
made  Otto  say  that  she  was  unlike  all  other  women.  Her  strik- 
ing beauty  had  never  before  been  more  apparent  than  at  that  mo- 
ment, and,  recognizing  that  here  was  a  daughter  worthy  of  him — 
a  wife  worthy  of  the  nephew  he  loved — after  a  short  silence,  ho 
spoke  again : 

"  I  was  wrong  to  use  that  expression.  To  forget  is,  indeed, 
not  in  our  power.  But  there  is  another  thing  which  M  in  our 
power,  and  which  is  worthy  of  the  highest  natures — that  is,  to 
forgive.  I  have  never  said  l  Forgive  me '  to  a  human  being  before, 
but  in  you  I  see  not  only  yourself  but  your  mother — and  it  is  to 
her  as  well  as  to  you  that  I  speak  when  I  say  :  '  You  have  been 
wronged.  Suffer  me  to  atone  for  it,'  " 

The  deep,  melodious  voice  that  had  so  often  swayed  men  like 
reeds,  took  its  deepest,  its  most  melodious  tone  in  the  last  words ; 
and,  had  not  Irene's  heart  been  mailed  against  him,  she  could 
hardly  have  resisted  the  spell  which  lies  in  the  rare  unbending  of 
a  stern  nature.  That  this  man,  with  his  great  power  and  greater 
fame,  should  come  to  her  as  a  suppliant — should  humble  his  pride 
sufficiently  to  say  to  a  girl,  and  that  girl  his  own  daughter,  "  For- 
give me " — would  have  touched  those  chords  within  her  which 
were  always  ready  to  respond  to  whatever  was  generous  or  he- 
roic. But  there  was  no  response  in  her  soul  to  anything  that 
Prince  Waldegrave  might  say  or  do.  The  marble  head,  which,  in 
milky  whiteness,  looked  forth  from  a  corner  near  them,  had  as 
much  sign  of  softening  on  its  features  as  her  face  showed. 

"I  could  hardly  have  thought,"  she  said,  "that  you  would 


492  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

mention  my  mother's  name  to  me ;  but,  since  you  have  seen  fit  to 
do  so,  since  you  have  addressed  her  in  my  person,  let  me  answer 
for  her  as  well  as  for  myself,  and  tell  you  that  it  is  no  more  in 
your  power  to  atone  for  the  past  than  it  is  in  that  of  a  murderer 
to  call  hack  the  soul  to  the  body  of  one  whom  he  has  slain.  You 
have  slain  love  and  trust  and  respect — and  the  dead  do  not  rise 
again.  To  me  you  are  of  all  beings  upon  this  earth  most  abhorrent, 
for  if  you  had  killed  her  whom  you  took  from  her  home  and  her 
country,  whom  you  swore  to  love  and  protect,  it  would  have  been 
tenderest  mercy  compared  with  what  you  did.  You  broke  her 
heart,  you  crushed  her  pride,  you  took  from  her  rank  and  name 
and  fortune — you  made  it  necessary  that  she  should  blazon  her 
cruel  wrongs  to  the  world  in  the  effort  to  obtain  bread  for  me. 
And  now  that  she  is  dead  and  her  claim  can  no  longer  conflict 
with  that  of  one  whom  you  put  in  her  place,  you  come  to  offer 
me  atonement,  and  ask  me  to  forgive !  Understand  this  :  I  would 
die  of  want  before  I  would  accept  the  least  thing  from  your  hand, 
and  though  my  mother,  who  was  an  angel,  did  forgive  you,  I 
never  will!" 

Passion  was  shaking  her  before  she  concluded  this  speech,  in 
which  the  deepest  feeling  of  her  nature,  on  the  subject  which 
touched  it  most  nearly,  found  expression.  It  was  a  moment  when 
the  pent-up  forces  of  years  rushed  to  the  outlet  of  speech,  and  she 
could  no  more  control  the  fiery  words  that  rushed  to  her  lips, 
than  it  is  possible  to  stem  a  tide  of  lava.  Well  as  he  had  been 
prepared,  Prince  Waldegrave  was  intensely  startled.  It  seemed 
an  accusing  angel  that  stood  before  him,  with  pale  face  and  shin- 
ing eyes,  and  read  the  terrible  indictment,  which  was  like  thunder 
in  his  ears.  Nothing  is  more  serviceable  for  us  than  to  perceive 
occasionally  how  those  acts  appear  to  others  which  we  have 
glossed  over  to  ourselves.  The  scorpion-whip  of  conscience  had 
not  been  wholly  unfelt  by  Prince  Waldegrave,  but  never  before 
had  such  a  mirror  been  held  up  to  him  as  in  those  words  of  Irene. 

"  And  is  this,"  he  asked  at  length,  in  a  low  tone,  "  the  spirit 
which  your  mother  taught  you  ? " 

"  No,"  the  girl  answered,  haughtily.  "  It  is  the  spirit  born  of 
my  love  for  her  and  my  detestation  of  you — her  destroyer.  Only 
twice  did  she  ever  mention  your  name  to  me,  or  even  allude  to 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  493 

yonr  existence — once,  when,  as  I  approached  womanhood,  she 
told  me  her  story  and  mine,  to  explain  why  we  had  neither  home 
nor  rank  nor  place  in  the  world ;  and  again  when  she  was  dy- 
ing, when,  holding  out  the  crucifix  to  me,  with  her  last  breath  she 
implored  me  to  forgive.  There  was  nothing  else  which  she  could 
have  asked  that  I  would  not  have  done — I  would  have  followed 
her  into  the  very  shadow  of  death,  if  she  had  bidden  me  do  so — 
but  I  could  tear  my  heart  out  of  my  breast  sooner  than  from  that 
heart  forgive  you !  " 

"Then,"  said  the  Prince,  with  something  of  haughtiness  in  his 
own  tone,  "  we  will  say  no  more  of  forgiveness.  There  remains 
justice.  Think  what  you  will,  feel  what  you  will,  about  me. 
But  do  not  fall  into  a  blind  folly  of  hate.  Take  the  birthright  of 
your  name  and  rank,  and  reward  the  love  of  one  whose  chief  anx- 
iety is  for  you — not  himself.  It  may  be  that  you  do  not  under- 
stand what  is  offered  you  in  Otto's  love,"  he  went  on  in  a  soft- 
ened tone,  after  a  brief  pause.  "I  have  known  many  men,  but 
never  one  who  is  more  noble  in  all  things." 

"He  may  be — I  believe  that  he  is — noble  and  good,"  said 
Irene.  "  But  what  then  ?  As  I  have  told  him,  it  would  be  easier 
for  fire  and  water  to  blend  than  for  me  to  unite  my  life  with  his. 
And  even  if  I  loved  him — and  if  there  did  not  lie  between  us  an 
impassable  gulf  of  wrong — how  could  I  trust  him  ?  My  mother 
trusted  you.'1'1 

The  last  words  were  uttered  in  a  tone  of  bitterness  and  scorn 
altogether  indescribable.  And  meeting  the  full  glow  of  the  brill- 
iant dilated  eyes,  above  which  the  dark,  straight  brows  were 
drawn  together  like  a  bar,  Prince  Waldegrave  felt  that  further 
appeal  was  useless — that  he  had  come  on  a  vain  errand.  Yet, 
moved  more  deeply  than  he  would  beforehand  have  imagined  pos- 
sible, and  realizing  the  depth  of  suffering  by  the  measure  of  resent- 
ment, he  was  constrained  to  make  one  more  appeal. 

"Perhaps  you  will  not  believe  me,"  he  said,  gravely,  "but  it 
is  nevertheless  true  that  if,  at  this  moment,  I  could  undo  all  the 
past,  I  would  make  any  sacrifice  for  that  end.  But  it  is  out  of 
my  power.  Even  my  will  to  atone  is  not  strong  enough  to  call 
back  the  dead,  to  unfasten  the  links  that  are  forged  around  my 
life.  But  I  have  come  here  to-day  to  do  all  that  lies  in  my  power 


494  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

— to  acknowledge  the  wrong,  to  offer  the  fullness  of  reparation. 
If  God  has  promised  pardon  to  one  who  does  this,  how  can  you 
dare  to  refuse  it?" 

"  Go  and  ask  it  of  God,"  she  answered,  in  a  stifled  voice,  "  but 
do  not  come  to  me.  It  is  easy  to  talk  of  reparation  to  the  dead, 
since  it  has  become  impossible.  But  what  was  denied  to  her  I 
will  never  take.  You  threw  us  out  of  your  life  together — and 
what  is  done  is  done.  My  part  is  with  her.  I  would  rather  share 
her  grave  than  your  palace.  This  is  my  last  word." 

She  turned  away  as  she  finished  speaking.  The  next  instant 
he  found  himself  alone. 

From  the  closed  carriage  which  was  standing  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs,  Waldegrave  emerged  as  he  saw  his  uncle  descending  toward 
him.  When  they  met,  the  Prince  paused,  and  answered  his  eager 
look  of  interrogation : 

"  I  have  failed.  She  will  take  nothing — hear  of  nothing.  My 
advice  to  you  is  to  think  of  her  no  more.  At  least,  never  mention 
her  name  again  to  me." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

AFTER  Mrs.  Falconer  heard  of  Prince  "VTaldegrave's  departure, 
she  waited  for  some  time  in  nervous  anxiety,  thinking  that  Irene 
might  come  to  reproach  her,  and  longing  to  know  the  result  of  the 
interview ;  but  as  the  minutes  passed  by,  and  Irene  did  not  appear, 
Bhe  finally  felt  suspense  to  be  unbearable,  and  went  to  the  door  of 
the  girl's  room. 

To  her  knock  no  answer  was  returned.  Again  she  knocked, 
bot  still  without  receiving  a  reply ;  and  then,  seriously  alarmed, 
she  unclosed  the  door.  The  first  object  on  which  her  eye  fell  was 
the  form  of  Irene,  who  was  lying  upon  the  couch  where  she  had 
found  her  once  before.  But  not  now  in  mere  exhaustion  from 
emotion;  rather,  prone  under  one  of  those  storms  of  the  spirit 
which  seem  as  if  they  would  rend  soul  and  body  asunder.  Her 
face  was  buried  hi  the  cushions,  but  her  frame  was  shaking  with 
the  passion  of  long-drawn  convulsive  sobs. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  495 

Hurrying  across  the  floor,  Mrs.  Falconer  knelt  down  by  the 
couch.  "  Irene,"  she  said,  gently — "  Irene !  "  Then,  as  no  answer 
came,  save  the  passionate  sobs :  "  My  dear,  what  is  the  matter  ? 
What  has  grieved  you  so  ?  " 

Still  she  had  to  wait  some  time  before,  without  lifting  her  face» 
Irene  said,  in  half-choked  accents : 

"  Why  is  such  a  burden  laid  upon  me  ?  What  have  I  done  that 
I  should  have  to  straggle  like  this — and  fail ! — and  fail ! — O  my 
mother,  can  you  see,  do  you  know,  that  when  the  supreme  moment 
came,  I  refused  what  you  asked  of  me?  I  said  that  I  would  try 
— and  God  sent  the  trial — and — when  it  came,  I  failed !  " 

"  You  refused  to  forgive  your  father  1 "  asked  Mrs.  Falconer,  in 
a  whisper. 

"  Yes."  She  suddenly  lifted  herself  and  a  flash  of  fire  came 
into  the  tear-deluged  eyes.  "  I  could  sooner  have  died.  Every- 
thing came  back  to  me — everything.  All  the  outrage,  the  cruel 
wrong,  the  base  injustice.  I  saw  all  my  mother's  ruined,  martyred 
life — I  felt  as  if  her  murderer  stood  before  me — and  I  told  him 
what  I  thought,  what  I  felt.  It  is  over.  The  moment  of  trial 
came — and  I  failed." 

"But,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer  —  altogether  uncertain  what  this 
passion  of  apparent  regret  might  mean—"  if  you  feel  differently 
now — if  you  think  that  you  could  answer  differently — it  is  easy  to 
convey  your  answer  to  Prince  Waldegrave." 

"  Feel  differently — answer  differently !  "  the  girl  repeated.  "  I 
should  feel  the  same,  I  should  answer  the  same,  if  it  were  to  do 
over  again.  I  think  if  I  were  dying  and  he  stood  before  me,  I 
should  with  my  last  breath  tell  him  that  I  would  never  forgive 
him ! " 

"  Ir£ne ! — my  dear  child— for  Heaven's  sake  think  what  you 
are  saying ! " 

"  I  do  think— I  feel  all  that  you  feel— I  know  that  it  is  hor- 
rible. But  what  can  I  do  ?  I  have  struggled  and  prayed — I  have 
begged  God  to  give  me  strength  to  overcome  this  passion  of 
hatred — and  sometimes  for  a  little  while  when  I  am  in  church, 
for  instance,  there  is  a  lull  in  the  conflict,  it  is  as  if  a  vision  of  the 
nothingness  of  time  and  the  greatness  of  eternity  came  over  me, 
and  forgiveness  grew  in  a  measure  possible.  I  think  then  of  my 


496  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

mother's  sufferings  as  so  many  occasions  of  merit  that  will  add  to 
her  happiness  for  all  eternity.  But  when  I  come  out  into  the 
world  the  battle  is  renewed,  the  sense  of  deep  resentment  takes 
possession  of  me  again.  And  when  I  stood  face  to  face  with  the 
man  who  had  sacrificed  her  to  his  ambition,  who  had  been  worse, 
a  thousand  times  worse,  than  her  murderer,  I  forgot  everything 
save  the  detestation  and  scorn  which  filled  my  soul.  I  should 
have  liked  to  spurn  him  with  my  foot.  I  did  spurn  his  offers  with 
every  word  which  indignation  could  suggest.  And  I  should 
do  it  again.  But  when  I  left  him — when  I  came  here,  panting 
and  breathless  with  excitement — then  in  the  stillness  I  seemed  to 
hear  my  mother's  voice,  as  clearly  and  distinctly  as  I  hear  yours 
— that  dying  voice  which  will  never  cease  to  echo  through  my 
soul — and  it  said,  '  Your  promise — where  is  your  promise  ? '  O 
mamma,  mamma !  " — with  another  passionate  burst  of  sobs  she 
held  out  her  arms  to  the  calm  picture  that  looked  down  on  her — 
"  why  did  you  ask  of  me  what  I  can  never  give  ?  Why  did  you 
make  your  memory  like  a  stern  angel  to  me  ?  O  my  dearest,  my 
best-beloved,  anything  else  on  earth  I  would  do,  but  what  you 
might  have  forgiven  for  yourself,  I  can  never,  never  forgive  for 
you!" 

What  could  Mrs.  Falconer  say?  It  seemed  to  her  that  the 
only  thing  to  do  was  to  quiet  the  excited  girl  as  far  as  possible. 
But  that  proved  difficult ;  and  after  the  storm  finally  subsided  the 
prostration  which  followed  was  so  great  that,  when  Stanhope 
came  in  that  afternoon,  Mrs.  Falconer  told  him  that  she  almost 
feared  illness  as  the  result. 

"  There  must  be  no  more  interviews  with  Prince  Waldegrave 
or  his  nephew,"  she  said,  decidedly.  "  I  have  given  the  last  as- 
sistance that  I  mean  to  give  in  bringing  about  any  meeting  of  the 
kind.  Henceforth  they  must  let  Irene  alone." 

"  From  what  Count  Waldegrave  tells  me,  there  is  no  question 
but  that  she  will  be  let  alone  hereafter  by  her  father,"  said  Stan- 
hope. "  He  has  requested  that  her  name  shall  never  be  men- 
tioned to  him  again." 

"I  do  not  wonder.  She  must  have  let  him  hear  the  truth  for 
once.  And  Count  Waldegrave — does  he  also  mean  to  put  her  out 
of  his  life  and  his  thoughts  ?  " 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  497 

"  On  the  contrary,  he  declares  distinctly  that  he  does  not  mean 
to  do  so.  '  As  long  as  we  both  live,'  he  said,  '  I  will  never  relax 
my  efforts  to  induce  her  to  accept  what  is  her  right.' " 

"  Which,  in  his  opinion,  probably  includes  accepting  himself, 
also,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer. 

"  Probably,"  answered  Stanhope;  "but  we  must  not  expect 
too  high  a  flight  of  disinterestedness.  I  think  that  he  means  to 
be  entirely  unselfish,  that  he  does  not  build  at  all  on  any  hope  of 
her  changing  toward  himself.  But  such  a  hope  may  exist  without 
his  recognizing  it.  The  human  heart  is,  above  all  things,  deceit- 
ful. It  is  astonishing  bow  often  we  find  that  we  have  been 
cherishing  a  hope  or  an  expectation  without  knowing  it,  until 
some  sharp  disappointment  tears  away  the  veil  and  shows  what 
we  have  been  building  upon." 

"  You  only  say  '  we,'  after  the  manner  of  writers,  without 
really  meaning  to  make  the  remark  personal  to  yourself;  is  it  not 
so?"  she  asked.  "I  can  not  imagine  that  you  ever  entertain 
hopes  or  expectations  without  fully  recognizing  them." 

"  "Why  not  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  smile.  "  Why  should  I  be 
exempt  from  any  of  the  folly  or  weakness  to  which  human  nature 
in  general,  and  my  sex  in  particular,  are  liable  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  imply  that  you  would  be  exempt  from 
anything  of  the  kind,  but  that,  if  it  existed,  you  would  recognize 
it,"  she  answered,  quietly.  "  You,  who  are  so  fond  of  reading 
the  characters  and  motives  of  others,  would  hardly  be  in  doubt 
as  to  your  own." 

"  How  keen,  though  gentle,  your  sarcasm  is !  "  he  said. 

"  You  mistake,"  she  replied,  quickly.  "I  did  not  mean  to  be 
sarcastic  at  all.  I  meant  in  all  seriousness  just  what  I  said — that 
one  so  used  to  analyzing  motives  would  not  be  readily  deceived 
about  his  own." 

"As  readily  as  about  those  of  others,"  he  said;  "and  you 
know  how  readily  that  is.  I  might  not  have  thought  so  a  few 
months  ago — I  was  then  quite  as  besotted  in  my  opinion  of  my 
own  judgment  as  you  imagine  me  to  be  now ;  but  I  have  had 
several  shocks  of  revelation  lately.  One  of  them  you  know.  I 
judged  you  presumptuously,  and  insisted  that  my  presumptuous 
opinion  was  correct.  Then  I  discovered  that  I  did  not  know 


498  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

myself  as  well  as  I  imagined — that  the  deceitfulness  of  the  heart, 
of  which  I  spoke  a  moment  ago.  had  blinded  me —  Eh,  lien!" 
he  broke  off,  suddenly.  "I  am  wandering  far  from  the  topic 
of  onr  conversation — the  topic  of  most  of  our  conversations — 
Ir&ne." 

"  She  has  certainly  been  the  topic  of  many  of  them,"  said 
Mrs.  Falconer ;  "  but  scarcely,  I  think,  of  most.  "  However, 
what  I  have  yet  to  say  of  her  is  simply  this — if  she  is  able  to 
travel  in  a  day  or  two,  I  mean  to  take  her  away  from  Rome." 

"Where?" 

"  Not  far  at  first.  Only  to  Albano,  or  some  other  place  in 
the  hills,  to  recover  the  health  and  spirits  which  I  am  sure  will  be 
much  shaken  by  to-day.  People  of  her  sensitive  organization 
always  fail  terribly  under  the  strain  of  mental  emotion.  She 
seems  to  me  the  sort  of  person  to  die  of  a  great  shock  or  a  pas- 
sionate struggle.  If  you  could  see  her  now — she  is  sleeping 
under  the  influence  of  an  anodyne — you  would  see  how  much  the 
excitement,  the  highly  wrought  emotion  of  to-day,  has  told  upon 
her.  But,  fortunately,  such  people  rally  as  quickly  as  they  fail ; 
and  I  hope  that  a  quiet  week  at  Albano — where  she  will  not  see 
or  hear  of  any  one  from  Eome — will  render  her  able  to  enjoy 
that  visit  to  Cori  and  Ninfa  of  which  Lionel  and  herself  have 
talked  so  much.  Then,  when  we  return  to  Rome,  it  will  be  time 
to  make  one's  plans  for  the  summer." 

"  And  are  you  not  beginning  yet  to  tire  of  this  charge  upon 
your  life  ?  "  he  asked,  struck  by  the  kindness  and  thoughtfulness 
of  her  arrangements. 

"  Have  I  anything  else  to  do  with  my  life  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Is 
it  likely  that  I  would  tire  of  a  charge  which  gives  me  an  unselfish 
interest  ?  That  is  a  miserable  life  which  is  limited  to  itself  in 
care  and  thought.  For  selfishness  defeats  its  own  end.  Instead 
of  excluding  pain  by  excluding  care  for  others,  the  selfish  life 
only  centers  all  care  upon  itself,  and  so,  when  pain  touches  it,  has 
no  other  refuge.  It  is  a  great  thing,  therefore,  to  throw  one's 
self  into  other  lives.  And  I  owe  you  thanks  for  bringing  Irene 
into  mine." 

"  I  think  it  was  your  own  kind  heart  that  brought  her  into 
it,"  he  said.  "Or,  perhaps,  her  mother's  prayers.  However 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  499 

that  may  be,  let  me  ask  if,  in  banishing  yourself  to  Albano  for  a 
week,  you  mean  to  exclude  every  one  from  Rome  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  mean  to  exclude  you,  if  you  care  to  come,"  she 
answered.  "  You  can  bring  no  painful  association  to  Irene.  But 
do  not  tell  Count  Waldegrave  where  she  is.  I  scarcely  suppose 
him  to  be  a  sufficiently  ardent  lover  to  follow  her;  but  there 
must  be  no  risk  of  anything  of  the  kind." 

Stanhope  readily  promised  that  Count  "Waldegrave  should 
learn  nothing  from  him.  "I  agree  with  you,"  he  said,  "that 
she  has  had  enough  of  excitement  for  the  present,  and  that  it  can 
serve  no  good  end.  If  she  is  ever  to  be  victorious  in  the  struggle 
with  herself— the  struggle  in  which  the  forces  of  good  and  evil 
seem  typified  by  her  parents — it  can  only  be  by  removing  her 
from  all  influences  that  rouse  intense  feeling." 

Mrs.  Falconer  proved  to  be  right  in  saying  that  the  strain  of 
emotion  which  Irene  had  undergone  would  tell  on  her  like  the 
effect  of  severe  illness.  For  more  than  twenty-four  hours  she 
was  completely  prostrated,  and  it  was  not  until  the  third  day 
after  Prince  Waldegrave's  visit  that  she  emerged  from  her  cham- 
ber, looking  the  ghost  of  herself,  or  like  the  girl  who  with  pale 
cheeks  and  violet- shadowed  eyes  had  stood  by  her  mother's  grave 
in  Paris. 

She  exhibited,  if  not  pleasure,  at  least  unmistakable  satisfac- 
tion, in  hearing  of  the  Albano  plan  ;  and  Mrs.  Falconer  made  no 
delay  in  carrying  it  out.  Erne,  who  eagerly  volunteered  his  serv- 
ices, was  sent  to  secure  suitable  apartments.  And  when  he  re- 
turned, assuring  his  cousin  that  he  had  found  what  he  thought 
would  suit  her,  she  first  thanked  him,  then  said,  with  a  smile : 

"But  Lionello  mio,  I  have  something  else  to  add  which  may 
seem  to  you  very  ungrateful,  and  it  is  this  :  do  not  come  to  Albano 
while  we  are  there.  I  want  Irene  to  have  perfect  quiet  from  all 
disturbing  influences ;  and  a  young  gentleman  who  looks  love,  even 
when  he  does  not  make  it,  is  a  disturbing  influence." 

"You  are  mistaken,"  said  the  young  gentleman  in  question,  a 
little  sadly.  "  /  should  be  no  disturbing  influence — I  have  not 
power  enough  for  that,  even — and  if  I  'look  love,'  it  is  very  un- 
consciously ;  for  I  have  not  a  shadow  of  hope.  But  if  I  am  not  to 
come  to  Albano,  how  about  our  excursion  to  Norba  and  Ninfa?  " 


500  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"  Oh,  I  will  write  you  when  we  are  ready  for  that,  and  yon 
can  come  and  join  ns.  You  know  you  have  to  decide  all  about 
the  route,  where  we  are  to  go  when  we  leave  Albano." 

"  We  will  go  to  Velletri.  That  was  the  headquarters  of  Mr. 
Neville  and  myself;  and  the  place  is  so  charming  that  I  advise 
you  to  spend  a  day  or  two  there." 

"  Very  well.  All  that  can  be  arranged  at  the  time.  Mean- 
while, possess  your  soul  in  patience,  and  wait  in  Borne  for  my 
summons." 

Erne  felt  that  he  could  do  this  with  a  very  good  grace,  having 
such  a  prospect  ahead ;  and  he  bade  them  good-by  quite  cheer- 
fully, when  the  three  ladies,  attended  only  by  their  servants,  left 
Eome  next  morning. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

IT  was  a  period  of  much-needed  rest  to  Irene,  that  quiet  week 
at  Albano.  The  repose  of  the  great  hills,  the  soothing  freshness 
of  the  airs  that  blew  over  them,  the  magical  beauty  of  sunsets, 
when  heaven  seemed  opening  to  the  gaze,  and  the  world  was  like 
a  beautiful  dream-land  far  below,  the  blossoming  richness  of  chest- 
nut-woods in  spring,  the  lovely  lanes  fringed  with  cyclamen,  vio- 
lets, and  forget-me-nots,  leading  to  glorious  old  ilex-groves — all 
were  full  of  a  charm  which  was  like  balm  to  her  spirit. 

They  were  days  which  Mrs.  Falconer  enjoyed  also.  The  free- 
dom from  all  social  demands,  the  delight  of  perfectly  sympathetic 
companionship,  and  the  hours  spent  in  the  open  air  among  the 
most  lovely  scenes,  made  the  time  pass  like  enchantment.  They 
went  to  Arricia  through  its  picturesque  glen,  and  dreamed  like 
the  " improvisatore "  that  the  lofty  dome  of  its  church  was  "that 
of  St.  Peter's,  which  the  angels  had  hung  up  in  the  blue  air  among 
the  dark  olive-trees."  They  followed  the  flower-carpeted  paths 
that  lead  to  the  Convent  of  the  Cappucini,  with  its  noble  ilex- 
groves  and  views  of  surpassing  beauty.  They  stood  by  the  lakes 
of  Alba  and  Nemi ;  they  wandered  over  the  site  of  Alba  Longa, 
the  mother-city  of  Rome  ;  loitered  through  the  beautiful  grounds 
of  the  villas  Barberini  and  Doria,  and  as  evening  came  they  saw, 
over  the  Campagna,  sunsets  in  which  the  clouds  were  "  like  the 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  501 

curtains  of  God's  tabernacle,"  and  the  wide  earth  was  transfused 
and  steeped  in  glory. 

There  were  quiet  hours,  also,  which  Irene  spent  in  kneeling 
before  the  altars  of  the  old  churches,  where  the  grave,  majestic 
frescoes  looked  down,  and  the  sanctuary  lamp  burned,  like  the 
divine  patience  of  God  amid  all  the  changes  and  unfaithfulness  of 
men.  Here  a  voice  seemed  to  speak  to  her  of  the  peace  that 
might  at  last  crown  struggle,  and  the  silent  figure  on  the  crucifix 
preached  as  no  mortal  tongue  could  do  of  the  divine  nature  of 
that  forgiveness  so  hard  for  human  hearts  to  practice.  What 
knowledge  of  her  own  heart  she  gained  in  these  silent  hours  it  is 
difficult  to  tell.  But  something  of  it  was  written  on  her  face,  in 
the  deep  expression  of  her  eyes.  When  Stanhope  came  he  was 
struck  by  this,  and  at  the  first  opportunity  spoke  of  it  to  Mrs. 
Falconer. 

"She  looks  like  one  who  has  gained  some  new  perception," 
he  said.  "  It  may  be  painful — there  are  signs  of  struggle  in  every 
line  of  her  countenance— but  it  is  also  new." 

"  It  can  hardly  be,  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  "  unless  she 
has  brought  herself  to  the  point  of  forgiving  her  father.  I  am 
sure  that  her  heart  knows  little  rest  on  that  score." 

"  Has  she  spoken  of  him  since  she  has  been  here  ?  " 

"  Never.  It  is  a  subject  we  entirely  avoid.  I  would  not  on 
any  account  rouse  again  such  a  passionate  storm  of  feeling  as  I 
witnessed  in  Home." 

"I  have  always  thought  forgetfulness  was  best,"  said  Stan- 
hope. 

Then  silence  fell  for  a  moment.  They  were  slowly  walking 
through  the  Galleria  di  Sotto — that  magnificent  avenue  lined  by 
ilex-trees  centuries  old,  with  their  massive,  leaning  trunks,  their 
wide-spreading  branches,  and  their  canopy  of  almost  impenetra- 
ble shade.  Presently,  Stanhope  said  : 

"  I  have  not  told  you  that  I  saw  Count  Waldegrave  the  otlier 
day  in  Kome.  He  came  to  ask  me  where  you  were  gone." 

"  You  did  not  tell  him  ?  " 

"  No.  I  told  him  that  I  had  been  requested  not  to  divulge 
your  place  of  retreat.  He  said  that  he  wished  to  see  Irene.  To 
that  I  replied  that  she  would  be  again  in  Kome,  and  that  he  could 


502  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

then,  if  he  liked,  endeavor  to  see  her ;  but  that  he  need  not  ex- 
pect further  assistance  from  you,  since  you  were  of  the  opinion 
that  she  should  be  troubled  no  more  by  influences  that  had  a  most 
unhappy  effect  upon  her." 

"  That  is  exactly  what  I  should  have  wished  yon  to  say.  I 
hope  that  he  will  heed  it." 

"I  doubt  that.  His  will,  I  think,  is  as  strong  as  her  own. 
And  when  an  irresistible  body  meets  an  impenetrable  body,  we 
may,  at  least,  expect  collision." 

"He  must  let  her  alone,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  decidedly.  "I 
will  not  consent  that  he  shall  keep  the  struggle  alive,  and  make  the 
poor  child  tear  herself  to  pieces  in  the  effort  to  attain  a  height 
which  is — for  the  present,  at  least — beyond  her  strength." 

Stanhope  was  silent  again  for  a  moment.  Then  he  said :  "  I 
have  something  else  to  tell  you.  The  story  is  just  now  the  talk 
of  Rome." 

"  What !  "  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  pausing  abruptly.  "  Irene's 
story  ? " 

"  Yes — Irene's  and  Count  "Waldegrave's.  You  may  fancy  what 
a  delightful  morsel  it  was  for  the  gossips — and  how  they  have 
made  of  it  a  more  than  Eomeo  and  Juliet  affair.  Lady  Dorches- 
ter stopped  me  on  the  Pincio  yesterday  afternoon  to  tell  me  what 
she  had  heard.  The  current  version,  it  seems,  runs  thus  :  Count 
"Waldegrave  lost  his  heart,  and  became  entangled  before  he  knew 
who  Ir&ne  was.  Prince  Waldegrave  heard  of  the  affair,  and  came 
post-haste  from  Nice  to  interfere.  There  was  a  furious  scene — 
particulars  not  stated — and  it  ended  by  your  carrying  the  heroine 
off  the  scene." 

Mrs.  Falconer  looked  for  a  moment  as  if  she  hardly  knew 
whether  to  laugh  or  cry — astonishment,  anger,  and  amusement 
were  so  mingled  in  her  face.  Then  she  drew  a  deep  breath,  and 
walked  on. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  it  is  as  accurate  as  most  of  the  gossiping 
stories  that  one  hears — an  excellent  example,  indeed,  of  how  ac- 
curate they  mostly  are.  But  how  could  it  have  started  ?  Who 
had  the  grain  of  truth  necessary  for  the  foundation  of  this  edifice 
of  untruth  ?  " 

"  Can  you  not  imagine  ? " 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  503 

"  I  have  not  an  idea." 

Stanhope  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  I  knew  at  once,"  he  said. 
He  drew  a  newspaper  from  his  pocket  and  handed  it  to  her.  "Do 
you  recognize  this  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  took  and  opened  it.  It  was  a  copy  of  the  "  Tittle- Tattle," 
containing  the  article  on  Madame  Lescar ;  and  on  the  margin  of 
the  paper  was  written,  "  Count  Waldegrave  will  furnish  the  se- 
quel." Mrs.  Falconer  looked  up  with  an  expressioa  in  which  in- 
dignation struggled  with  disgust. 

"  Can  it  possibly  be  Violet  Dysart  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  It  can  not  possibly  be  any  one  else,"  Stanhope  answered. 
"  That  was  brought  to  me  by  Count  Waldegrave.  It  was  sent  to 
his  uncle,"  who  found  it  on  his  return  to  Nice." 

"  But  why  ?     What  end  could  she  have  had  ?  " 

"  The  desire  pure  and  simple  to  make  mischief  is  enough  of  an 
end  to  some  people.  It  is  not  worth  while  to  trouble  one's  self 
with  endeavoring  to  find  what  other  she  may  have  had.  The 
stories  which  have  been  set  afloat  in  Rome  are  worse  than  this 
achievement.  They,  of  course,  emanate  from  the  same  source." 

"And  did  you  feel  at  liberty  to  tell  Lady  Dorchester  the 
truth?" 

"  Yes,  for  Count  Waldegrave  had  said  to  me,  '  I  bring  you  this 
because  the  person  who  sent  it  may  be  capable  of  worse  things — 
of  circulating  false  and  injurious  reports.  Do  not  hesitate,  if  you 
hear  anything  of  the  kind,  to  tell  the  whole  truth.'  I  therefore 
told  the  whole  truth  to  Lady  Dorchester,  and  laid  on  her  no  ill- 
junction  of  secrecy." 

"  How  did  she  receive  it  ?  " 

"  With  intense  interest,  as  you  may  imagine ;  protested  that 
she  had  always  been  sure  that  Irene  was  a  remarkable  person,  and 
that  she  must  be  even  more  remarkable  than  she  had  imagined  if 
she  could  resist  such  a  paladin  as  Count  Waldegrave." 

"I  am  inclined  to  be  of  the  same  opinion,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer, 
smiling.  "But  I  have  no  clew  whatever  to  her  feeling  toward 
him.  She  never  mentions  his  name.  As  for  these  stories,  do  you 
think  that  I  ought  to  return  to  Rome  on  account  of  them  ? " 

"Not  an  hour  earlier  than  you  intended — why  should  you? 
You  might  as  well  attempt  to  bridle  the  wind  as  to  restrain  the 


504:  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

tongues  of  gossips.  And  Irene  will  be  so  much  an  object  of  at- 
tention when  she  returns  to  Rome  that  I  do  not  think  you  would 
like  to  remain  there." 

"  It  is  not  my  intention  to  remain  longer  than  to  make  my 
arrangements  for  leaving  definitely." 

"  And  where,  if  I  may  ask,  do  you  mean  to  go  ?  " 

"  To  Paris  for  a  few  weeks— until  summer  fairly  sets  in." 

"  Et  apres  ?  " 

"That  is  a  harder  question  to  answer  than  you  imagine. 
"When  there  is  nothing  to  take  one  anywhere  in  particular,  it  is 
difficult  to  decide  upon  a  special  place.  After  all,  it  is  a  good 
thing  not  to  have  too  extended  a  field  for  choice." 

"  It  is  a  misfortune  from  which  few  of  the  world's  inhabitants 
suffer,"  he  said,  smiling.  "  And  for  myself,  I  should  never  com- 
plain of  it.  I  like  to  know  that  my  field  of  choice  is  only  lim- 
ited by  the  limits  of  the  globe." 

"And  where,  in  that  very  wide  field,  do  you  think  of  going 
next  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  was  so  much  pleased  with  the  Norse  lauds  last  sum- 
mer that  I  shall  probably  go  back  to  them.  I  wish  I  could  tempt 
you  to  think  of  Norway.  I  should  like  you  to  see  what  I  saw  last 
year — the  magnificent  spectacle  of  the  midnight  sun." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  it ;  but  I  do  not  think  I  can  go  to  Nor- 
way for  the  purpose." 

"  You  would  not  fear  the  journey  ?  " 

"Not  at  all."  She  paused,  and  he  was  not  certain  whether  a 
gleam  of  sunset-fire  falling  through  the  ilex-boughs  reddened  her 
cheek,  or  whether  she  flushed  as  she  added,  "  I  am  tolerably  inde- 
pendent of  the  opinion  of  the  world,  as  you  kuow ;  but  I  can  bo 
so  only  because  I  never  violate  its  proprieties." 

"And  what  possible  canon  of  propriety  would  you  violate  in 
going  to  Norway  ?  "  he  asked,  in  surprise. 

"None  certainly  in  going  to  Norway,"  she  answered. 

"  Oh !  "  It  was  his  turn  to  pause  for  a  moment  before  adding, 
"  Would  the  impropriety,  then,  be  in  my  presence  ?  But  I  thought 
that  even  Mrs.  Grundy  had  by  this  time  recognized  my  harmless- 
ness." 

"  You  forget,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  with  a  slight  shade  of  cold- 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  505 

ness  in  her  voice,  "  that  every  one  has  not  had  the  advantage  of 
hearing  your  statement  of  your  own  position,  nor  can  be  aware  of 
the  opinions  you  entertain  with  regard  to  me.  I  am  speaking, 
therefore,  of  things  as  they  appear  in  the  eyes  of  the  world." 

"And  is  it  possible,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone,  "  that  even  in  the 
eyes  of  the  world  I  could  be  credited  with  presumption  enough  to 
approach  you  as  anything  but  a  friend  ?  " 

Her  hands  were  full  of  wild-flowers  which  she  was  arranging 
a  little  nervously  as  she  replied  in  a  tone  as  low  as  his  own :  "  The 
world  is  mercenary — who  knows  it  better  than  I  ? — yet  even  this 
mercenary  world  does  not  recognize  in  wealth  the  insurmountable 
barrier  that  you  do.  For  what,  after  all,  is  your  opinion  but  this 
— that  I,  Sydney  Falconer,  am  of  less  importance  than  the  money 
which  came  to  me  by  an  accident  of  inheritance  ?  You  wish  to 
exalt,  and,  in  fact,  you  degrade  me.  I  am  to  forget  the  better 
part  of  my  womanhood — I  am  to  sell  myself  for  high  rank — and 
why  ?  Because  J  count  for  nothing,  but  the  wealth  that  hangs 
round  my  neck,  for  much !  " 

He  had  seen  before  the  flash  of  indignation  that  was  in  her 
eyes  as  she  turned  them  on  him — and  there  could  be  no  question 
now  of  sunset-light  reddening  her  cheeks.  It  was  the  eloquent 
blood  which  rushed  to  them,  and  retreated  again,  leaving  her  pale. 

Stanhope  felt  his  own  blood  like  fire  in  his  veins;  but  he 
endeavored  to  retain  control  of  himself,  and  after  a  moment  man- 
aged to  say,  calmly : 

"We  have  been  over  this  ground  before;  you  have  before 
charged  me  with  undervaluing  you,  because,  presumptuously 
enough,  I  thought  that  you  ought  to  make  a  great  marriage.  I 
tried  to  show  you  then  that  it  was  because  I  rated  you — not  your 
wealth — so  high  that  I  thought  nothing  worthy  of  you  but  the 
most  brilliant  position.  If  you  doubt  me,  I  wish  that  you  could 
read  my  heart.  You  would  find  how  far  above  every  one  else  in 
the  world  you  stand  there.  You  would  see  that  I  speak  simplest 
truth  when  I  say  that  I  would  rather  be  your  friend  than  the 
accepted  lover  of  any  other  woman.  Why  am  I  here  to-day?  Is 
it  not  because  I  feel  that  I  am  only  half  alive  when  I  am  absent 
from  you?  But" — he  stopped  and  checked  himself  sharply — 
"this  is  worse  than  madness!  You  are  wrong  in  saying  that  the 
22 


506  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

world  does  not  hold  such  wealth  as  yours  an  insurmountable  bar- 
rier between  you  and  a  man  who  has  no  counterbalancing  advan- 
tage to  offer.  The  world  does  hold  it  so— rightly.  And  if  the 
world  did  not,  I  should.  The  barrier  is  there — and  so  great  that 
I  can  never  even  attempt  to  surmount  it." 

They  walked  on  silently.  Mrs.  Falconer  was  pale  now  to  her 
lips.  She  felt  that  it  was  a  supreme  moment,  that  they  might 
never  be  so  near  an  understanding  again,  and  that  it  was  for  her 
to  make  an  heroic  effort.  She  seemed  still  to  be  arranging  her 
flowers,  but  presently  she  paused. 

"  If  there  is  such  a  barrier,"  she  said,  "  and  you  will  not  attempt 
to  surmount  it,  I  must  be  braver  than  you — and  hold  out  my 
hand  across  it." 

As  she  spoke,  she  extended  her  hand. 

Stanhope  seized  it,  and  held  it  for  a  moment  in  a  grasp  which 
almost  crushed  it,  before  he  said,  hoarsely  : 

"Do  you  know  what  you  are  doing? — do  you  know  that  you 
are  offering  to  throw  away  your  life  with  all  its  brilliant  possibili- 
ties ;  and  that  you  are  tempting  me  to  take  advantage  of  your 
generosity,  and  forfeit  my  own  respect?  " 

"I  would  certainly  not  wish  to  do  the  last,"  she  said,  touched 
by  the  passion  of  his  tone,  and  lifting  to  his  face  her  eyes,  blue  as 
the  flowers  she  held,  "but  if  you  care  for  me  -all  rests  on  that — " 

"  You  know  that  I  do !  "  he  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  which  was 
more  than  many  protestations. 

"  Then  I  hold  your  scruples  to  be  worth  nothing.  What  I 
you,  who  denounce  the  worship  of  money,  are  ready  to  attach 
to  it  a  value  as  great  as  that  which  could  be  placed  upon  it  by  its 
most  ardent  worshiper?  You  say  that  it  is  of  sufficient  impor- 
tance to  stand  between  two  people,  who  might  else  find  happi- 
ness together  ?  "Well  " — she  attempted  to  draw  back  her  hand — 
"that  is,  of  course,  for  you  to  decide.  The  money  is,  unfor- 
tunately, attached  to  me,  and  I  can  not  throw  it  away.  But,  let 
me  tell  you  that  what  you  consider  a  question  of  self-respect  is 
simply  a  question  of  pride." 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone.  "I  have 
always  felt  that,  in  marriage,  I  would  desire  to  give — not  to 
take."  J 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  507 

"  And  would  you  not  give  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Ah,  how  blind — 
how  blind  you  are !  "What  is  all  the  wealth  in  the  world  com- 
pared to  what  you  could  give !  Love,  hi  which  I.  once  so  bitterly 
disappointed,  might  trust  undoubtingly — aim  and  interest  for  a 
life  which  now  lacks  both,  or  tries  to  make  them  out  of  indiffer- 
ent things,  the  rest  and  security  that  come  from  a  heart  at  peace 
— But  why  do  I  talk?  It  is  not  my  place  to  plead.  Go,  if  you 
will.  I  shall  only  have  learned  again  of  what  stuff  a  man's  love 
is  made." 

The  ring  of  her  voice  was  as  proud  as  pathetic — and  with  the 
last  words  she  strove  again  to  withdraw  her  hand  from  the  clasp 
that  held  it  fast.  But  the  barriers  were  broken  down  between 
them  now,  and,  with  the  sentences  she  had  just  uttered  ringing 
in  his  ears,  there  was  nothing  which  was  not  more  possible  to 
Stanhope  than  to  let  that  hand  go.  Fortunately  the  Galleria  di 
Sotto  was  just  now  free  from  any  presence  save  their  own.  He 
bent  his  head  and  kissed  it  passionately,  as  he  said : 

"  Let  me  show  you,  indeed,  what  stuff  a  man's  love  is  made 
of!  I  will  put  my  pride  where  my  heart  has  long  been— at  your 
feet." 

"  And  do  you  expect  me  to  be  surprised  ? "  asked  Irene. 
"Did  I  not  tell  you  that  Mr.  Stanhope  was  in  love  with  you? 
But  I  did  not  know — I  only  suspected — that  you  cared  for  him. 
And  I  did  not  see  at  all  how  the  difficulty  of  your  having  so 
much  money  was  to  be  got  over." 

"I  did  not  see  myself,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "In  fact,  I  did 
not  think  that  it  ever  would  be  got  over,  for  by  intuition  I  knew 
his  feeling  about  it,  and  I  never  would  have  believed  myself  ca- 
pable of  taking  a  step  to  encourage  a  hesitating  wooer.  Yet  that 
is  what  I  did.  His  heart  was  open  before  me — only  his  pride 
stood  between  us — what  could  I  do,  then,  but  surrender  mine? 
If  there  had  been  a  shade  of  doubt,  it  would  have  been  a  perilous 
and  indefensible  experiment.  But  I  had  no  doubt.  All  was 
clear :  it  was  like  a  flash  of  light.  I  saw  that  everything  hung 
on  me." 

"And  you  have  proved  yourself  as  generous  in  love  as  in 
everything  else,"  said  Irene.  "  But  then,  you  are  like  a  queen — 


508  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

made  to  do  things  that  other  women  must  not  imitate.  And  Mr. 
Stanhope  will  give  you  the  devotion  you  deserve,  and  the  sym- 
pathy which  is  more  than  devotion.  For  I  can  imagine  it  quite 
possible  to  grow  tired  of  the  devotion  of  an  unsympathetic  per- 
son." 

"  If  friendship  is  the  best  foundation  for  love,  we  have  that," 
said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  And  do  you  know  that  but  for  you  this 
would  never  have  come  to  pass  ?  " 

"  But  for  me?  "  repeated  the  girl,  in  surprise.  "  What  had  I 
to  do  with  it?  I  should  like  to  believe  it — like  to  feel  myself  any 
kind  of  link  between  those  who  have  been  such  friends  to  me — 
but  I  do  not  see  how  it  can  be." 

"  Yet  it  is  very  plain,  and  in  more  ways  than  one.  But  for 
you,  we  should  never  have  been  thrown  together  so  closely  and 
intimately ;  but  for  you,  Mr.  Stanhope  would  not  have  been  in 
Rome  this  winter ;  and  but  for  you,  I  should  probably  at  this  mo- 
ment be  engaged  to  marry  the  Marquis  de  Chateaumesnil.'1' 

"Is  it  possible!  "  said  Irene,  after  considering  the  matter  for 
a  moment  with  thoughtful  eyes.  "  Then  I  have  not  lived  in  vain. 
How  often  I  have  wished  that  I  could  do  something  for  both  of 
you — and  now  it  seems  that,  unconsciously  to  myself,  I  have  done 
something!  It  shows  how  little  we  can  know  what  is  for  the 
best.  I  thought  it  so  hard  that  M.  de  Chateaumesnil  should  care 
for  me  that  I,  who  liked  him  so  much,  should  have  to  inflict  pain 
on  him ;  for  I  would  rather  suffer  pain  myself  than  be  forced  to 
inflict  it  on  another.  Yet,  if  it  has  brought  about  your  happiness 
and  that  of  Mr.  Stanhope,  I  can  be  resigned  to  it." 

"  It  would  be  unreasonable,  however,  to  expect  the  Marquis 
to  be  resigned,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  smiling.  "  Ah,  if  you  could 
have  married  him,  all  would  have  ended  well — like  a  fairy-tale." 
.  But  Irene  shook  her  head.  "It  was  impossible,"  she  said. 
"Do  not  talk  of  it.  Talk  of  yourself.  Tell  me  all  about  how 
happy  you  hope  to  be.  And  I,  on  my  part,  shall  beg  God  with 
all  my  heart  to  make  your  hopes  realities.  And  I  think  that  He 
will.  For  surely  this  is  a  reward  for  the  kindness  you  have  both 
given  to  one  who,  but  for  that  kindness,  would  have  been  friend- 
less and  alone  in  the  world." 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  509 

CHAPTER  XV. 

IT  was  with  a  light  heart  that  Erne  received  his  cousin's  sum- 
mons. "Come,"  she  wrote,  "and  we  will  go  to  Velletri,  as  you 
proposed.  The  weather  is  perfect,  and  Irene  is  looking  forward 
to  the  excursion  with  eagerness." 

Irene's  eagerness  found  an  echo  as  Erne  read  these  words ; 
and  with  a  step  as  light  as  his  heart  he  was  walking  down  the 
Corso  half  an  hour  later.  Why  he  felt  so  much  elated  would 
have  puzzled  himself  to  tell,  further  than  that  he  would  for  a  few 
days  be  with  Irene  among  the  most  beautiful  scenes.  He  knew 
that  he  had  nothing  beyond  this  to  look  forward  to ;  yet  this  was 
a  pleasure  beyond  which  he  would  not  look.  "  She  does  not  care 
— she  never  will  care — in  the  least  for  me,"  he  thought ;  "  but 
that  does  not  hinder  my  feeling  for  her  as  Dante  did  for  Beatrice. 
She  will  be  my  inspiration  more  than  if  I  could  win  her.  I  real- 
ized that  from  the  first.  No  doubt  if  there  was  any  hope  of  her 
listening  to  me  I  should  repeat  the  folly  of  which  I  have  already 
been  guilty  ;  but  there  is  no  hope,  and  I  am  resigned.  I  can  not 
imagine  her  as  the  wife  of  one  man.  She  was  made  to  be  the 
star  of  many  hearts." 

Like  most  imaginative  people,  Erne  found  real  comfort  in 
his  own  imaginations,  and  it  was  naturally  easier  for  him  to 
assign  to  Irene  a  lofty  stellar  destiny  than  to  fancy  her  bestowing 
on  some  other  man  what  she  had  denied  to  him.  "  Some  other 
man  " — be  he  abstract  or  particular — is  always  the  object  of  a 
lover's  keenest  detestation ;  and  it  pleased  Erne  to  believe  that 
this  obnoxious  person  would  not  fare  better  than  himself. 

It  was  at  this  point  of  his  thoughts  that,  looking  up,  he  found 
himself  suddenly  face  to  face  with  Count  "Waldegrave,  who  was 
emerging  from  the  Via  Condotti,  as  he  was  about  to  turn  into  it. 
There  was  an  exchange  of  salutations— after  which  Waldegrave, 
pausing  for  an  instant,  said : 

"  If  you  will  permit  me,  I  will  walk  with  you  for  a  short  dis- 
tance," and  turned  around. 

Erne,  although  much  surprised,  assented  courteously,  and  so 
for  a  moment  they  walked  on  together  in  silence.  Then  Walde- 
grave said : 


510  HEART  OF  STEEL.     • 

"  I  have  just  been  to  call  on  Mr.  Stanhope,  and  I  find  that  he 
has  left  Rome.  In  consequence,  I  have  entirely  lost  sight  of  Mrs. 
Falconer,  and— Miss  Lescar.  Yet  I  am  very  anxious  to  see  the 
latter.  Am  I  asking  you  to  violate  confidence  in  telling  me  where 
she  is  ? " 

Now,  if  Erne  hesitated  a  moment,  it  was  not  because  he  felt 
that  he  would  be  violating  confidence  in  answering  the  question — 
for  Mrs.  Falconer,  never  dreaming  of  any  encounter  on  his  part 
with  Count  Waldegrave,  had  not  exacted  a  promise  from  nor  made 
a  request  of  secrecy  to  him — but  because  a  quick  sense  of  jealousy 
rose  in  his  breast.  If  this  man  had  received  the  same  inflexible 
"  No  "  that  had  been  his  own  answer  from  Irene,  why  was  he  not 
resigned  to  abide  by  it  as  he  (Erne)  was  ?  Why  did  he  wish  to  go 
and  trouble  her  with  vain  pleading?  Or,  if  he  desired  to  address 
her  again  on  the  subject  of  her  father's  offer,  he  ought  to  know 
that  such  appeal  was  useless.  These  thoughts  passed  rapidly 
through  his  mind  before  he  answered : 

"  I  should  not  violate  any  confidence  in  telling  you  where  she 
is ;  but  I  must  doubt  whether  your  seeing  her  again  would  be  ad- 
visable." 

It  was  on  the  point  of  Waldegrave's  tongue  to  say,  haughtily, 
"  You  will  allow  me  to  judge  of  that  " ;  but  he  restrained  the  im- 
pulse, conscious  that  it  was  in  Erne's  power  to  give  or  withhold 
the  information  he  desired.  '  What  he  said  was : 

"  It  is  not  without  a  good  reason  that  I  desire  to  see  her  ;  and 
a  reason  which  concerns  myself  in  a  very  small  degree.  In  every 
way  she  would  be  happier  if  she  could  be  induced  to  forgive  the 
past  and  take  from  her  father's  hand  her  proper  place  in  the 
world.  Any  one  who  is  her  friend  must  wish  her  to  do  this." 

"  I  am  not  sure  on  that  point,"  said  Erne.  "  I  am  her  friend 
— and  I  do  not  wish  it." 

"Then,"  said  the  other,  quietly,  "you  do  not  wish  to  see  the 
triumph  of  the  noblest  part  of  her  nature  over  the  less  noble. 
I  do — and  I  have  not  resigned  the  hope  of  securing  such  a 
triumph." 

"  You  would  do  well  to  resign  it,"  said  Erne.  "  You  do  not 
know  her  if  you  fancy  that  you  will  ever  induce  her  to  forget  the 
past  sufficiently  to  entertain  any  association  with  her  father." 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  511 

"  You  only  echo  what  every  one  else  has  said,"  answered 
Waldegrave ;  "  hut  I  have  hope  of  better  things.  And  it  is  a 
hope  which  I  shall  not  resign.  Therefore  I  ask  again  if  you  will 
tell  me  where  she  is?" 

"  I  am  not  aware  of  any  reason  why  I  should  not  tell  you," 
said  Erne,  after  a  slight  pause.  "  She  is  with  Mrs.  Falconer  at 
Albano.  But  I  have  just  received  a  letter  from  my  cousin 
desiring  me  to  join  them,  in  order  that  they  may  go  to  Vel- 
letri." 

"  And  you  go — ? " 

"  To-day,  by  the  evening  train.  We  shall  probably  leave  Al- 
bano to-morrow." 

"It  is  impossible  for  me  to  leave  Rome  to-day,  or  to-morrow 
either,"  said  Waldegrave,  reflectively.  "  But,  after  that,  you  will 
be  established  at  Velletri  ?  " 

"  In  a  manner.  We  propose  to  make  it  our  headquarters  for 
a  series  of  excursions  among  the  Volscian  Hills.  This  being  the 
case,  it  is  very  doubtful  whether  you  would  find  Miss  Lescar  if 
you  went  there — and  I  advise  you  to  wait  until  her  return  to 
Rome,  to  make  any  effort  to  see  her."  . 

Waldegrave  smiled — a  smile  which  indicated  little  intention 
of  following  the  advice  thus  volunteered — then,  with  a  few 
words  of  thanks,  turned  away,  as  they  entered  the  Piazza  di 
Spagna. 

Erne  looked  after  him  uneasily.  Now  that  it  was  too  late,  he 
was  sorry  for  having  given  the  information  asked  of  him.  The 
thought  that  Waldegrave  might  appear  at  any  time  to  disturb  and 
agitate  Irene  threw  a  shadow  in  advance  over  the  enjoyment  he 
had  so  eagerly  pictured  to  himself.  "  Confound  him ! "  the  young 
fellow  muttered.  "  Why  can  he  not  let  her  alone,  and  why  did  I 
not  refuse  to  tell  him  where  she  is?  " 

Regrets  being  useless,  however,  his  sanguine  spirit  soon  reas- 
serted itself,  and  he  hoped  that  Waldegrave's  own  good  sense 
would  show  him  the  folly  of  a  journey  to  Velletri,  with  no  cer- 
tainty of  finding  Irene,  when  by  waiting  patiently  he  could  see 
her  in  Rome.  He  forgot,  what  Waldegrave  remembered,  that  the 
difficulty  of  seeing  her  in  Rome,  now  that  Mrs.  Falconer  had  de- 
clined to  assist  him  again,  was  much  greater  than  it  would  proba- 


512  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

\>\j  be  in  a  place  where  lie  might  contrive  to  take  her  hy  sur- 
prise. 

It  was  the  latter  consideration  which,  three  or  four  days  later, 
moved  him  to  do  what  his  heart  prompted — go  to  Velletri.  It  is 
a  short  journey  from  Koine  to  this  old  Volscian  town,  once  he- 
sieged  hy  Coriolanus.  Little  more  than  an  hour  over  the  Naples 
Railway  places  the  modern  traveler  within  its  gates.  But  when 
Waldegrave  drove  to  the  principal  hotel  he  found  that  those 
whom  he  came  to  seek  were  gone.  The  landlord  himself  came 
forward  to  answer  his  inquiries.  "  They  went  to  Cori  yesterday, 
signor,  and  will  not  return  until  to-morrow — if  then.  One  of  the 
signori  talked  of  going  on  to  Segni — he  with  the  sketch-book,  who 
has  been  here  before.  It  is  possible  that  they  may  do  so." 

"  Then  I  will  follow  them  to  Cori,"  said  the  signor.  "  Order 
me  a  carriage  at  once." 

The  carriage  was  ordered,  and  half  an  hour  later  he  drove  out 
of  Velletri,  along  the  green  bowery  lanes  which  environ  the  town 
on  all  sides,  and  which  are  particularly  charming  at  this  season, 
when  the  flowers  that  line  them  fill  the  air  with  their  fragrance. 
Everywhere  rioted  the  sweet,  wild  honeysuckle,  which  the  people 
lovingly  call  fiori  della  Madonna,  because  it  blooms  in  the  mouth 
of  May ;  bands  of  peasants  were  at  work  in  the  hill-side  vineyards 
that  produce  the  famous  wine  of  Velletri ;  and  now  and  then,  be- 
tween the  gnarled  stems  of  olive-trees,  were  enchanting  glimpses 
over  the  blue  masses  of  farther  and  nearer  mountains.  But  when 
at  length  the  road  began  to  ascend  the  steep  height 

"  Whence  Cora's  sentinels  o'erlook 
The  never-ending  fen" — 

the  view  widened,  and  with  every  onward  step  grew  more  beau- 
tiful. "The  never-ending  fen" — in  other  words,  that  land  where 
death  lies  hid  under  flowers,  known  as  the  Pontine  Marshes,  and 
of  which  the  name  gives  a  most  erroneous  idea — spread  afar  to 
the  glittering  sea,  where  the  magical  Cape  of  Circe  stretched  out 
in  full  view,  while  near  it  lay  the  soft  purple  islands  of  San  Felice, 
Ponza,  and  Pandataria,  where  some  of  the  worst  cruelties  of  the 
Eoman  emperors  were  perpetrated. 

But  Waldegrave  was  for  once  thinking  as  little  as  the  most 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  513 

shallow  tourist  of  the  loveliness  which  surrounded  him,  or  the 
historical  and  poetical  associations  which  rose  up  on  every  side. 
He  had  been  to  Oori  before ;  he  knew  its  streets,  like  staircases, 
too  steep  for  anything  but  foot-passengers  and  mules,  its  ancient 
walls,  its  beautiful  temples ;  and  when  he  heard  that  the  party  of 
which  he  was  in  search  had  started  early  to  Norba,  he  only  de- 
layed long  enough  to  engage  a  mule  and  a  guide,  and  set  out  to 
follow  them. 

Even  in  his  absorbed  mood,  however,  the  glorious  scenery  into 
which  he  plunged  on  leaving  the  gates  of  Cori  on  the  Norba  side, 
began  to  tell.  After  crossing  the  picturesque  bridge  which,  built 
of  great  masses  of  tufa,  spans  a  deep  ravine,  he  found  himself 
following  a  road  that  wound  along  the  side  of  the  mountain,  with 
precipices  above  and  below,  and  a  boundless  view  over  the  gleam- 
ing outspread  world.  As  he  advanced,  the  scenery  grew  more 
wild — a  few  goats  browsing  among  the  rocks  were  the  only  living 
creatures  visible — and  he  could  have  fancied  himself  journeying 
through  some  deserted  prehistoric  region.  Presently  Norma 
came  in  sight,  crowning  its  tremendous  precipice  of  rock  with 
rugged,  towering  heights  all  around  it ;  and  then  the  ancient  cita- 
del of  Norba,  which  has  been  a  ruin  since  the  time  of  Sylla,  yet 
the  Cyclopean  walls  of  which  are  absolutely  untouched  by  decay. 
Perched  like  an  eagle's  nest  upon  an  almost  inaccessible  height,  it 
is  a  spot  where  silence  reigns,  and  has  reigned,  through  all  the  cen- 
turies since  its  garrison,  finding  themselves  betrayed  into  the 
hands  of  Lepidus,  put  themselves  and  all  the  inhabitants  to  the 
sword.  Some  memory  of  that  tragedy — fit  hearts  they  must  have 
been  to  hold  this  citadel  of  giants — seems  to  linger  in  the  sunshine 
which  broods  over  the  inclosure  within  those  massive  stones. 
And  from  this  elevation  what  a  panorama  is  spread  before  the 
gaze !  The  Pontine  Marshes  lie  below,  their  forests  and  flowery 
plains  set  with  lakes  that  gleam  in  the  sunlight  like  jewels. 

The  line  of  the  Appian  Way  can  be  distinctly  traced  as  it 
passes  across  the  marshes ;  and  Cisterna— the  Three  Taverns  of  St. 
Paul — glitters  in  the  sunshine.  There  are  the  town  and  lake  of 
Fogliano,  buried  in  a  thick  green  wood — a  magical,  haunted-look- 
ing  spot  —  while  near  the  shore,  with  dark  woods  stretching 
around  it  also,  is  the  celebrated  castle  of  Astura.  Lake  after  lake 


514  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

the  eye  discerns  shining  like  molten  gold  in  a  setting  of  richest 
emerald,  and  forests  extending  to  the  sea,  the  level  sapphire  ex- 
panse of  which  fades  afar  into  that  misty  sky-line  where,  from 
the  sentinel  watch-towers,  the  dreaded  sails  of  the  Saracens 
were  so  often  to  be  seen,  bringing  terror  and  dismay. 

Here,  again,  Waldegrave  found  that  those  of  whom  he  was  in 
search  had  eluded  him.  The  citadel  was  silent  and  deserted.  But 
the  guide  was  at  no  loss.  He  advanced  to  the  edge  of  the  preci- 
pice, and  pointed  downward,  saying,  "  They  are  there." 

Waldegrave's  glance  followed  his  pointing  hand,  and  he  saw 
the  spot  which  had  so  fascinated  Irene's  imagination,  and  which 
has  been  admirably  described  by  one  *  who  also  looked  upon  it 
from  this  height  : 

"Immediately  beneath  us  is  a  ring  of  green  ivy  walls,  encir- 
cling many  wonderful  mounds  which  all  seem  formed  of  flowers 
and  ivy.  Gray  towers  rise  out  of  this,  ruins  all  overhung  with 
green,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  strange  circle  we  may  see  a  silver 
spring  gushing  forth  and  glowing  through  the  Pontine  Marshes, 
and  ending  in  a  sparkling  lake  far  away  by  the  sea-shore.  We  ask 
in  astonishment  what  this  curious  garlanded  circle  is,  with  its 
many  green  hillocks,  and  we  are  told  that  it  is  Einfa — Ninfa,  the 
Pompeii  of  the  middle  ages." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"!T  is  even  more  strangely  beautiful  than  I  had  imagined," 
said  Irene.  "  Indeed,  it  would  be  quite  impossible  for  one  to  con- 
ceive anything  so  like  enchantment." 

It  was  to  Erne  she  spoke.  They  had  succeeded  in  making 
their  way  into  the  barricaded  city,  for  the  flower-sprites  which 
inhabit  it  are  not  without  defenses,  and  its  gates  are  barred  by 
the  long  tendrils  of  the  ivy  which  has  covered  every  foot  of  the 
walls  with  thickest  verdure.  Having  entered,  it  was  as  if  they 
had  stormed  and  carried  the  capital  of  Fairy -land.  An  indescrib- 
able sensation  filled  them  as  they  wandered  along  grassy  streets 

*  Gregorovius. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  515 

mosaicked  with  flowers,  between  houses  out  of  whose  windows 
roses,  honeysuckle,  and  jasmine  looked,  where  noble  mediaeval 
palaces  stood  half-buried  in  green,  and  the  only  sound  was  the 
sighing  of  the  wind  among  the  leaves,  or  the  voice  of  the  swiftly 
rushing  Nymphseus.  Irene  thought  of  the  charming  and  fantas- 
tic yet  most  accurate  description  which  she  had  read  with  Erne 
the  night  before:  "All  the  streets  are  filled  with  flowers,  which 
seem  to  march  in  procession  to  the  ruined  churches.  They  climb 
on  every  tower,  they  lie  laughing  and  smiling  in  all  the  desolate 
windows,  they  barricade  every  door,  for  within  the  houses  reside 
elves,  fairies,  water-nymphs,  and  a  thousand  charming  spirits  of 
the  fable-world.  Yellow  marigolds,  mallows,  sweet  narcissus, 
gray-bearded  thistles  who  once  dwelt  here  as  monks,  white  lilies 
who  were  nuns  in  their  life-time,  wild  roses,  laurestinus,  masticks, 
tall  ferns,  wreaths  of  clematis  and  bramble ;  the  red  fox-glove 
which  look  like  enchanted  Saracens;  the  fantastic  caper-plant 
growing  in  the  clefts  of  the  buildings,  the  sweet  wall-flower,  the 
myrtle,  and  the  fragrant  mint ;  brilliant  yellow  broom  and  dark 
ivy,  which  creeps  over  all  the  ruins  and  falls  over  the  walls  like 
green  cascades — one  may  fling  one's  self  into  this  sea  of  flowers, 
quite  intoxicated  by  the  perfume,  and  the  most  charming  fairy 
power  enchains  the  soul."  All  this  wealth  of  color  lay  around 
them,  and  the  beautiful  architecture  of  the  middle  ages  lent  itself 
to  the  picturesque  decay  in  a  manner  impossible  to  describe.  For 
''how  can  one  depict  in  words  a  shattered  bell-tower,  with  round 
windows,  or  windows  divided  by  small  pillars,  with  its  frieze 
formed  of  sharply  pointed  tiles,  and  with  its  romantic  decorations 
of  ivy  and  flowers  waving  in  the  wind?  or  how  picture  the  ruins 
of  the  arched  niches,  or  the  nave  of  the  church  all  overhung  with 
tapestries  of  flowers  ?  The  churches  are  old — they  belong  to  the 
eleventh  or  twelfth  century,  if  they  are  not  of  a  still  earlier  date, 
for  they  are  built  in  the  simple  basilica  style.  In  their  deserted 
space  the  flowers  worship  now,  and  the  censers  are  swung  by 
roses.  From  the  walls,  or  perhaps  from  an  ivy -hung  tribune,  some 
old  fresco-paintings  still  look  down.  They  represent  early  Chris- 
tians with  palms  in  their  hands,  and  instruments  of  martyrdom 
by  their  side.  With  faded  nimbi  on  their  pale  foreheads,  in 
golden  dalmatica,  with  stole  upon  their  shoulders,  they  look  from 


516  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

behind  their  veil  of  flowers,  and  seem  shocked  by  the  heathen 
rites  which  the  children  of  Flora  are  daring  to  celebrate  in  these 
deserted  churches." 

But  Irene  shook  her  head  when  Erne  quoted  this,  as  they 
stood  in  one  of  the  churches.  "  I  do  not  think  they  are  here  to 
celebrate  any  heathen  rites,"  she  said.  "  I  think  they  are  here  to 
praise  and  worship  God,  instead  of  those  who  come  no  longer. 
What  fancy  is  it  that  we  must  turn  away  from  Christianity  and 
go  back  to  paganism  if  we  want  poetical  ideas?  I  do  not  think 
the  gentle  saints  are  '  shocked.'  I  think  they  are  quite  willing 
that  flowers  should  come,  since  people  can  worship  here  no  more. 
It  seems  fitting  that  their  fragrance  should  fill  the  consecrated 
walls  where  the  incense  of  prayer  no  longer  rises." 

"  One  can  not  get  rid  of  the  idea  that  they  must  be  conscious," 
said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "It  is  such  a  strange,  enchanted-looking 
place !  If  the  inhabitants  were  not,  by  some  spell  of  magic,  con- 
verted into  flowers,  what  became  of  them?  " 

"  It  is  a  mystery,"  said  Erne.  "  There  is  not  even  a  tradition 
to  tell  the  story  of  the  desertion  of  the  place." 

"  A  stranger  mystery  to  me,"  said  Stanhope,  "  is  how  it  could 
ever  have  been  inhabited.  It  must  always  have  been  the  home 
of  fever." 

"  What  is  its  history  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  Surely  it  has 
a  history." 

"  It  is  very  obscure,"  answered  Stanhope.  "  The  Frangipani 
— that  race  of  glorious  name  * — possessed  it  in  the  twelfth  cen- 
tury. In  the  thirteenth  it  passed  to  the  Gaetani,  whose  descend- 
ants still  hold  it.  But  it  must  always  have  been  flowery,  since  a 
church  was  dedicated  here  in  1216  to  Santa  Maria  del  Mirteto — 
that  is,  '  of  the  Myrtle-grove.' " 

"  So  the  flowers  have  a  right  to  come  in,"  said  Irene,  smiling. 
"They  were  in  a  manner  invited  by  that  dedication." 

"  In  ancient  times,"  said  Erne,  "  a  temple  of  the  Nymphs 
stood  by  the  lake,  and  it  is  evident  that  the  name  of  the  stream 
was  derived  from  it— probably  the  name  of  the  town  also." 

*  The  name  signifies  "  bread-breakers,"  and  is  derived  from  their  im- 
mense charity  in  a  time  of  famine. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  517 

"  I  thought  you  told  me  that  the  name  of  the  town  was  de- 
rived from  that  of  a  maiden  called  '  la  bella  Ninfa,' "  said  Irene. 

"  That  is  what  the  people  of  Norma  say — a  maiden  who  flung 
herself  from  the  tall  tower  that  stands  by  the  pool  at  the  entrance 
of  the  town,  to  escape  marrying  the  sposa  her  parents  had  chosen 
for  her.'1 

"Then  I  do  not  think  she  is  as  creditable  a  sponsor  as  the 
nymphs,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  "  and  I  prefer  to  believe  that  the 
name  comes  from  them." 

"  She  must  have  been  very  miserable,"  said  Irene. 

Presently,  when  they  were  in  the  silent,  flower-filled  streets 
again,  she  said :  "  Let  us  go  to  the  castle.  I  should  like  to  mount 
to  the  top  of  the  tower,  if  possible." 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  thinking  of  imitating  the  example  of  '  la 
bella  Ninfa,'  "  said  Erne,  smiling. 

"  I  can  not  imagine  any  degree  of  unhappiness  which  could 
make  that  possible  to  me,"  she  answered. 

No  one  objecting,  they  turned  their  steps  in  the  direction  of 
the  castle,  which  stands  at  the  entrance  of  the  town,  and  was  the 
seat  of  its  barons.  The  square  medieval  tower  rises  high  above 
its  walls,  and,  with  the  mass  of  ivy-hung  ruins,  is  beautifully  re- 
flected in  the  still  waters  of  a  pool,  fringed  with  flowers  and 
surrounded  by  tall  reeds,  that  lies  immediately  below  it. 

After  forcing  an  entrance  into  the  castle  which  the  ivy  barred, 
as  if  fearing  an  invasion  of  Saracens  from  the  coast,  or  warlike 
barons  from  the  neighboring  heights,  they  found  it  not  difficult 
to  mount  the  tower,  for  steps  built  of  stone,  in  the  glorious  mid- 
dle-age fashion,  do  not  crumble  or  decay.  It  would  be  impossible 
to  imagine  a  more  wild  or  beautiful  scene  than  that  which  re- 
warded them.  The  pool  below  was,  in  its  absolute  stillness,  like 
a  part  of  the  enchanted  world  of  death  which  surrounded  it. 
"White  lilies  were  open  on  its  breast,  but  no  ripple  crossed  the 
still  surface  of  the  water.  Like  a  mirror,  reflecting  the  massive 
castle  with  its  banners  of  ivy  and  the  tall,  solitary  tower,  it  lay. 
A  sense  of  something  strange  and  unearthly  seemed  to  brood 
over  the  spot :  it  was  easy  to  fancy  departed  souls  being  ferried 
across  the  death-bearing  expanse,  where  the  only  sound  was  of 
the  wind  among  the  reeds,  or  the  sobbing  cry  of  the  water-hen 


518  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

which  came  at  intervals  from  the  neighboring  marsh.  On  the 
other  side  of  the  castle  the  fairy  ring  of  Ninfa  lay  in  green  beauty 
and  magical  silence.  Above  rose  the  noble  height  on  which 
Norba  stands,  with  its  citadel 

"  Piled  by  the  hands  of  giants 
In  godlike  days  of  old," 

while,  looking  over  the  luxuriant  expanse  of  the  Pontine  Marshes, 
they  could  trace  the  sparkling,  foaming  Nymphteus,  and  see  the 
Circean  mount  glittering  in  the  evening  light. 

"  It  is  certainly  a  marvelous  place,"  said  Stanhope,  breaking 
a  long  silence.  "  One  might  believe  that  Virgil  or  Dante  had 
seen  it,  it  is  so  like  the  mythic  regions  of  their  wonderful  shadow- 
worlds." 

"  Is  it  not  ?  "  said  Irene.  "  I  never  felt  like  a  disembodied 
spirit  before,  but  I  feel  like  one  now.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  have 
left  the  world  behind,  and  that  I  am  here  waiting  for  Charon, 
who,  with  his  boat,  will  presently  push  out  from  the  shore 
yonder." 

"I  confess  that  I  have  no  such  feeling,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer; 
"  but  there  is  something  of  awe  in  the  thought  that  death  lies 
hidden  under  all  this  beauty — that  it  would  be  at  the  peril  of  our 
lives  if  we  staid  here  after  the  sun  sank." 

"  We  must  not  wait  for  the  sun  to  sink,"  said  Stanhope. 
"  We  must  be  well  away  before  then.  Indeed  " — he  glanced  at 
his  watch — "  we  have  not  very  much  longer  to  remain." 

u  Then  let  us  go  down,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "  We  have  not 
half  explored  the  town. — Come,  Irene." 

But  Irene  did  not  heed  the  summons.  Leaning  her  arms  on 
the  ivy-hung  battlements,  she  was  looking  up  at  the  blue,  entranc- 
ing mountains  and  over  the  flowery  lake ;  and,  since  she  did  not 
move,  Erne,  of  course,  lingered  with  her  after  Mrs.  Falconer  and 
Stanhope  were  gone.  They  were  silent  for  some  time,  until  at 
length  she  said,  abruptly : 

"  Why  are  most  people  so  afraid  of  death  ?  There  is  nothing 
terrible  in  it,  unless  we  make  the  terror  for  ourselves.  To  me  it 
is  attractive — like  a  vision  of  peace  and  beauty."  Then,  after 
another  pause:  "If  it  were  not  wrong,  do  you  know  what  I 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  519 

should  do  ?  I  would  stay  here  and  see  the  moon  rise.  Then, 
indeed,  we  should  behold  an  enchanted  city." 

"  I  wish  that  it  were  possible,"  said  Erne,  "  but  it  is  not." 

"  What  should  we  see,  do  you  think  ?  "  she  went  on.  "  Would 
the  Will-o'-the-wisps  from  the  marsh  come  to  storm  the  town 
and  carry  off  the  flower-spirits?  Should  we  see  Charon  wafting 
his  pale  freight  of  souls  across  this  water,  and  would  there  be 
among  them  the  grave,  ineffably  melancholy  face  of  the  great 
Florentine  ?  Would  the  churches  be  lighted  up  and  vespers  sung 
by  the  flowers?  Or  would  the  Duke  of  Alba  come  riding  down 
the  mountain  to  demand  the  surrender  of  the  castle  ?  We  shall 
never  know  what  takes  place  when  the  moon  shines  over 
Ninfa." 

"Never,"  he  answered,  smiling.  "But  I  think  we  must  go 
now ;  some  one  is  coming  for  us." 

Some  one  was  certainly  mounting  the  stone  stair  within — a 
step  that  rang  against  them  as  their  mailed  lords'  might  have  done 
in  days  gone  by.  Erne  listened  in  surprise.  It  was  undoubtedly 
not  the  step  of  the  guide  ;  it  was  hardly,  he  thought,  the  step  of 
Stanhope.  Were  there  strangers  besides  themselves  in  Ninfa? 
Impelled  by  curiosity,  he  walked  to  the  head  of  the  staircase,  and 
there  came  face  to  face  with  Waldegrave. 

Neither  spoke  for  a  moment.  Then,  looking  past  the  young 
man,  who  almost  unconsciously  barred  his  way  to  the  slender 
figure  leaning  over  the  battlements,  Waldegrave  said  : 

"  I  saw  Mrs.  Falconer  and  Mr.  Stanhope  below.  They  told 
me  that  I  would  find  Miss  Lescar  here." 

His  tone  implied,  "I  wish  to  see  her  alone,"  and  so  Erne  un- 
derstood it.  But  he  hesitated.  Jealousy  on  his  own  account,  and 
irritation  on  behalf  of  Irene,  prompted  him  to  hold  his  ground, 
yet,  in  common  courtesy,  it  was  scarcely  possible  to  do  so.  Had 
he  not  been  enjoying  Irene's  society  all  day  and  for  several  days, 
and  should  he  now  churlishly  refuse  to  leave  the  field  free  to 
Waldegrave  for  half  an  hour?  The  instinct  of  the  gentleman 
triumphed :  he  could  not  do  so.  Moving  aside,  he  said,  "  I  shall 
wait  for  Miss  Lescar  below,"  and  went  down-stairs  as  Waldegrave 
walked  to  Irene's  side. 

Thinking  it  was  Erne,  she  turned  as  he  approached,  saying, 


520  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"Well,  are  we  to  go?" — then,  seeing  Waldegrave,  drew  back 
with  a  low  exclamation  and  a  paling  face. 

He  on  his  part  said,  quickly :  "  Do  not  let  me  startle  you  !  I 
am  sorry  to  have  come  upon  you  so  unexpectedly,  but  since  I  can 
only  see  you  by  accident — that  is,  by  turning  accident  to  my  own 
advantage — how  can  I  avoid  it? " 

"  Why  should  you  wish  to  see  me  ? "  she  asked,  after  an  in- 
stant, in  a  pained  tone.  "I  told  you  that  I  would  never  will- 
ingly see  you  again." 

"  And  what  did  I  tell  you?  "  he  asked  in  turn.  "Did  I  not 
tell  you  that  no  space  should  be  wide  enough  to  divide  us — that, 
if  necessary,  I  would  follow  you  over  sea  and  land  until  I  won 
from  you  the  triumph  of  your  nobler  self  ?  " 

She  did  not  flash  out  upon  him  as  she  had  done  once  before, 
and  as  he  half  expected  now.  It  was  evident  that  some  change 
had  passed  over  her  which,  for  the  present  at  least,  had  subdued 
the  fiery  spirit.  She  only  looked  at  him  with  an  expression  at 
once  appealing  and  sorrowful. 

"  Then,"  she  said,  "  do  you  know  to  what  you  condemn  me  ? 
It  is  to  a  constant,  wearing  struggle,  which  in  the  end  will  kill 
me.  I  am  exhausted  by  it  now,  and  the  only  peace  is  when  I 
can  for  a  little  while  forget.  For  the  last  few  days,  in  these  fresh 
and  beautiful  scenes,  I  have  in  a  manner  somewhat  forgotten, 
and  now  you  come  to  bring  the  memory  of  conflict  back.  Is  it 
my  punishment  because  for  an  unworthy  motive  I  consented  to 
know  you,  and  so  brought  all  that  has  followed  upon  myself  ?  Of 
late  I  have  had  many  hours  in  which  to  reflect,  and  I  have  seen, 
as  in  a  mirror,  how  all  flows  from  that.  I  should  never  have 
consented  to  know  you.  Because  I  did  consent,  I  am  punished. 
But  are  you  not  satisfied  with  what  I  have  had  to  suffer  already  ? 
Will  you  not  leave  me  alone?  " 

There  was  a  poignant  entreaty  in  her  last  words  that  pierced 
Waldegrave's  heart.  It  was  like  an  echo  of  the  painful  struggle 
of  which  she  spoke — of  passionate  forces  which  might,  indeed, 
prove  too  much  for  the  heart  in  which  they  battled. 

"You  must  know,"  he  said,  after  a  moment,  in  a  tone  as  low 
and  as  pained  as  her  own,  "  that  I  would  not  willingly  do  any- 
thing the  result  of  which  could  be  to  cause  you  suffering." 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  521 

"  Then,"  she  said,  clasping  her  hands  in  the  urgency  of  her 
speech,  "  go — and  do  not  let  ine  see  you  again !  This  has  grown 
too  much  for  my  strength.  I  can  not  bear  any  more." 

Waldegrave  was  silent  for  a  moment.  What  could  he  say  ? 
Words  seemed  useless  after  that  appeal — an  appeal  like  the  cry  of 
a  wounded,  struggling  soul. 

"If  you  would  only  believe,"  he  said,  at  length,  "if  I  could 
only  make  you  believe,  that  the  best  end  for  the  struggle — the 
only  true  peace — would  lie  in  forgiving  the  past — " 

"You  only  say  that,"  she  answered,  "because  you  do  not 
know  what  deep  roots  my  feeling  has.  Do  not  talk  of  it !  Only 
be  generous — only  be  kind — only  leave  me  !  " 

"Do  you  know  what  you  ask  of  me?  "  he  said,  after  another 
pause.  "How  can  I  leave  you?  Do  you  forget  that  I  love 
you — passionately,  intensely,  as  I  never  imagined  it  possible  to 
love  ?  Loving  you  thus,  how  can  I  accept  your  sentence  of  ban- 
ishment ? " 

"  Because  for  that  reason  alone — if  there  were  no  other — it 
would  be  necessary,"  she  answered.  "  What  is  there  but  banish- 
ment for  one  who  loves  where  love  is  hopeless  ? " 

"  And  is  mine  absolutely  hopeless  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Can  I  never 
hope  to  triumph  over  the  feeling  which  holds  you  from  me,  as 
I  have  already  triumphed  over  the  prejudice  with  which  you  at 
first  regarded  me  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  comparison,"  she  answered.  "  To  put  aside  prej- 
udice— that  was  only  a  matter  of  justice.  But  the  other — that  is 
like  the  blood  of  my  heart.  Do  you  know  the  story  of  this  tower 
— how  a  girl  leaped  from  it  once  into  that  still  water  below,  into 
the  very  arms  of  death,  to  escape  a  marriage  worse  than  death  to 
her?  Well,  I  could  do  that  sooner  than  forget  the  past." 

"  Sooner  than  marry  me,  do  you  mean  ? "  he  asked,  in  a  tone 
of  sharp  pain. 

There  was  silence.  Irene  turned  her  face  away,  and  looked 
over  the  still,  gleaming  water,  over  the  level,  green  expanse  of  the 
marsh  where  death  lay  hid  under  riotous  life.  She  had  not  told 
— she  had  not  meant  to  tell  him— that.  But  if  he  believed  it —  ? 

He  did  not  mean  to  believe  it  without  clear  and  definite  assur- 
ance. He  felt  that  this  was  a  moment  which  could  hardly  be  re- 


522  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

peated — and  that,  whatever  it  cost,  he  must  know  the  truth.  His 
voice,  therefore,  took  a  deeper  tone  of  insistence  as  he  said  : 

"  If  that  is  what  you  mean,  tell  me  so  !  If  my  love  only  in- 
spires you  with  aversion,  I  would  wish  to  know  it." 

"Aversion — no,"  she  answered,  in  a  low,  reluctant  voice. 
"  But  why  do  you  trouble — why  do  you  press  me  ?  Does  it  mat- 
ter what  degree  of  like  or  dislike  I  feel  ?  It  is  all  one.  A  gulf 
as  great  as  the  gulf  of  death  lies  between  us." 

"  I  will  never  acknowledge  it— never !  "  he  said.  "  There  is 
no  gulf  save  what  your  own  feeling  makes." 

"  And  what  is  feeling  but  the  better  part  of  ourselves  ? "  she 
asked,  turning  her  eyes  back  upon  him.  UI  could  sooner — far 
sooner — open  my  veins  and  let  out  the  blood  in  them,  than  tear 
out  of  my  heart  the  feeling  which  would  make  it  impossible  for 
me  to  think  of  marrying  you — even  if  I  loved  you." 

Something  in  her  voice,  in  her  eyes,  in  the  faltering  accent  of 
the  last  words,  suddenly  let  a  flood  of  light  in  upon  him — a  flood 
that,  for  a  moment,  almost  stunned  him.  Then,  like  a  flash  of 
electricity,  some  words  of  Stanhope's  recurred  to  his  memory: 
"/  believe  that  so  deeply  is  the  memory  and  the  resentment  of  her 
mother's  wrong  impressed  on  her  nature,  that,  if  you  could  win  her 
heart,  it  would  only  fie  to  inaugurate  a  worse  struggle  with  herself 
than  any  she  has  known  yet."  Had  he  done  this  ?  "Was  that  what 
the  passionate  entreaty  of  her  tone,  the  new  traces  of  struggle  on 
her  face,  meant  ?  lie  was  struck  dumb  by  the  thought. 

Meanwhile  Irene  went  on — clasping  her  hands  above  her  heart 
as  if  she  would  fain  stop  its  beating — and  her  voice  taking  a  more 
pathetic  tone : 

"  Surely  I  have  said  enough — surely  now  you  will  go  and  make 
no  more  attempts  to  see  me  !  It  can  serve  no  purpose — none. 
Yon  only  keep  alive  a  conflict  that  is  wearing  out  my  strength. 
And  you  mistake  if  you  think  that  what  you  urge  is  even  pos- 
sible to  me.  It  is  not.  I  am  not  exaggerating — I  am  not  saying 
anything  which  I  do  not  mean— when  I  tell  you  that  I  could 
sooner  leap  from  this  tower  than  forget  or  forgive  the  past." 

"  But  I  had  no  part  in  the  wrong  of  that  past,"  he  said.  "  Why, 
then,  should  it  make  a  barrier  between  us  ?  " 

"  Why  are  the  sins  of  the  fathers  visited  upon  the  children  ? 


HEART  OF  STEEL.       •  523 

Why  does  one  generation  sow  and  another  reap  its  harvest  of  evil 
or  good  ?  You  and  1  must  reap  of  evil.  I,  in  any  case,  but  you 
— well,  you  need  not  have  suffered  it,  for  of  the  wrong  you  were, 
indeed,  guiltless,  had  I  not  been  led  away  by  bitterness  to  un- 
worthy desires.  1  am  punished— believe  me,  fitly  punished — for 
that." 

"The  last  thing  which  I  could  possibly  wish  is  that  you  should 
be  punished  for  any  pain  that  I  have  suffered,"  he  said.  "I  count 
it  less  than  nothing,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  make  any  reparation 
for  the  past — if  I  can  at  last  win  you  to  let  me  efface  its  conse- 
quences. Why  will  you  not  listen  to  me?  why  will  you  not  be- 
lieve that  this  is  the  right,  the  noble,  the  generous  thing  for  you 
to  do?  Irene,  1  can  not  go!  I  am  pleading  for  you  more  than 
for  myself — I  am  showing  you  where  the  true  end  of  struggle  lies. 
My  love — whom  I  loved  before  I  knew  that  one  drop  of  kindred 
blood  was  in  our  veins — if  there  is  in  your  heart  a  single  throb 
that  answers  to  mine — " 

"  No,  no !  "  she  cried,  like  one  who  starts  back  from  a  preci- 
pice. She  retreated  from  him,  and  stood  near  the  battlement,  as 
if  at  bay.  "  Go,"  she  said.  "  I  have  given  you  my  answer.  There 
can  never  be  any  other  possible  between  us.  Go." 

There  was  a  passion  of  mingled  entreaty  and  command  in  the 
last  word,  which  he  understood  clearly.  He  saw  that  her  fear  was 
of  herself  more  than  of  him.  He  stood  irresolute.  How  was  it 
possible  to  refuse  to  obey  such  a  command  ? — yet  how  could  he  go  ? 

The  knot  of  his  perplexity  was  sharply  cut.  A  clear  voice 
behind  him  said : 

"IrSne!  you  must  come  down.  The  guide  declares  that  we 
are  staying  here  too  late  for  safety,  and  that  we  have  barely  time 
to  reach  Cori  if  we  start  immediately." 

It  was  Mrs.  Falconer,  who  looked  very  cold  and  resolute  when 
Waldegrave  turned  toward  her,  while  Irene  hurried  down  the 
stair.  She  waited  until  the  girl  was  out  of  hearing — then  said,  in 
a  tone  as  cold  as  her  look : 

"  I  told  you  once,  M.  le  Comte,  that  you  had  my  best  wishes ; 
but  I  must  tell  you  now,  that,  while  Irene  continues  under  my 
care,  I  can  not  consent  to  her  being  annoyed  and  pained  in  this 
manner.  She  has  a  right  to  say  who  she  will,  or  will  not,  see. 


524  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

She  has  distinctly  declared  that  she  does  not  wish  to  see  you.  I 
must  beg  you,  therefore,  to  make  no  further  effort  to  force  your 
presence  on  her." 

The  young  man  bowed.  "  I  acknowledge  that  you  are  right 
to  make  the  request,"  he  said ;  "  and  I  recognize  that  I  have 
accomplished  no  good  in  this  interview.  My  only  excuse  is  that 
my  motive  has  been  less  selfish  than  it  may  appear.  But  I  will 
not  again  make  an  effort  to  see  her  without  her  own  or  your 
consent/' 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

IT  is  difficult  to  say  how  warmly  or  how  frequently  Erne 
anathematized  Waldegrave  in  the  safe  depths  of  his  inner  con- 
sciousness, when  he  saw  what  a  change  that  half-hour  had 
wrought  in  Irene.  The  girl  who  came  down  the  tower-stair  was 
no  more  the  same  girl  who  had  leaned  over  its  battlement,  weav- 
ing her  fancies  of  what  might  be  seen  when  the  moon  rose  over 
Ninfa,  than  a  crushed  lily  is  like  the  same  flower  in  the  freshness 
of  newly  opened  beauty.  She  was  like  one  who  had  been  crushed 
by  strong  emotion,  and  out  of  whom,  for  the  time  being,  all  in- 
terest in  things  around  her  had  departed. 

Everything  was  ready  for  departure ;  the  mules  were  standing 
in  the  gate-way,  and  she  suffered  herself  to  be  mounted,  with 
scarcely  a  glance  at  the  fairy-like  loveliness  which  a  little  while 
before  had  so  enchanted  her.  Tet  Ninfa  wore  now  its  most 
beantiful  aspect,  as  the  level  sunset  flooded  it  with  light,  bringing 
out  all  the  wonderful  effects  of  its  ivy  walls  and  flower-decked 
ruins.  But  it  was  a  beauty  under  which  the  terrible  shade  of 
fever  lurked ;  and,  as  soon  as  Mrs.  Falconer  returned,  the  guide 
hurried  them  away.  After  they  had  gone  some  distance  they 
looked  back  at  the  magic  city.  It  was  filled  with  unspeakable 
richness  of  color  in  the  evening  glow ;  the  lake  was  like  a  sheet 
of  gold,  and  on  the  tall  tower  one  solitary  figure  stood,  outlined 
against  the  sky,  as  if  watching  for  the  boat  which  would  bear  him 
to  the  shadow-land  of  departed  souls.  It  was  their  last  glimpse  of 
Ninfa.  They  turned  around  the  hills  and  saw  it  no  more. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  525 

"  Really,  I  hope  that  Count  Waldegrave  does  not  mean  to  stay 
there  and  take  fever  as  a  means  of  committing  suicide,"  said  Mrs. 
Falconer  to  Stanhope.  "  I  am  provoked  with  him ;  but  I  do  not 
wish  him  so  bad  a  fate  as  that." 

"He  will  not  stay  there  much  longer,  I  dare  say,"  replied 
Stanhope,  who  had  no  great  fear  of  fever.  "  It  is  likely  that  he 
means  to  return  to  Norma  to  spend  the  night." 

But  Waldegrave  meant  no  such  thing ;  nor  had  he  any  inten- 
tion of  taking  fever  as  a  means  of  suicide.  As  soon  as  the  little 
procession  had  wound  out  of  sight,  he  descended  from  the  tower, 
mounted,  and  slowly  followed  them  toward  Cori. 

It  was  well  that  he  did  so;  for  the  first  person  whom  he  met 
as  he  climbed  the  steep  streets  of  the  town,  while  the  Ave  Maria 
was  ringing  from  the  church-towers  overhead,  was  his  own  con- 
fidential servant,  who  had  followed  him  from  Eome  with  a  tele- 
graphic dispatch. 

It  was  from  Nice,  and  marked  "  Important."  Waldegrave  tore 
it  open  with  a  foreboding  heart,  and  read  :  "  Prince  Waldegrave 
has  had  another  seizure,  and  is  very  ill.  Come  at  once." 

He  was  exceedingly  weary  from  his  day's  travel,  but  the 
thought  of  delay  did  not  occur  to  him.  The  servant,  who  knew 
everything  that  would  be  demanded  of  him,  had  learned  at  what 
hour  the  last  train  that  night  would  pass  Velletri.  There  was 
barely  time  to  reach  it  by  starting  instantly,  and  Waldegrave 
merely  stopped  for  much-needed  refreshment  before  flinging  him- 
self into  the  carriage  which  brought  him  to  Cori,  and  promising 
the  driver  a  liberal  reward  if  he  reached  Yelletri  before  the  train 
left. 

The  next  day  Irene  seemed  so  indifferent  to  continuing  their 
excursions  that  Mrs.  Falconer,  after  consultation  with  Stanhope, 
declared  her  intention  of  going  back  to  Rome — turning  a  deaf  ear 
to  Erne's  proposals  with  regard  to  Segni,  Alatri,  and  Ferentino. 

"No  doubt  they  are  all  very  interesting  places,"  she  said. 
"But  it  is  now  growing  late  in  the  season,  and  I  have  many 
things  to  do  as  a  preparation  for  leaving  Rome.  Do  not  be  un- 
reasonable! You  have  shown  Irene  Norba  and  Ninfa,  as  you 
wished  to  do." 


526  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"Yes;  and  had  her  pleasure  and  my  own  pleasure  spoiled  by 
the  intrusion  of  Count  Waldegrave,"  said  Erne.  "She  has  been 
a  different  creature  from  the  moment  he  appeared.  He  has  cer- 
tainly some  strong  power  over  her." 

"  He  has  the  power  of  recalling  all  the  bitterness  and  struggle 
which  darken  her  life,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer ;  "  and  for  that  reason, 
more  than  any  other,  I  wish  to  return  to  Kome,  in  order  to  take 
her,  as  soon  as  possible,  away  from  such  influences." 

"  Where  do  you  go  when  you  leave  Kome  ? " 

"  To  Paris  for  a  time." 

This  was  consoling ;  for,  to  a  young  gentleman  who  plays  at  art, 
•what  place  surpasses  Paris  in  the  number  and  variety  of  its  advan- 
tages? Erne's  face  began  to  lose  its  elongated  aspect.  "  Well,"  he 
said,  "  that  is,  no  doubt,  the  best  thing  you  can  do ;  and  Paris  is 
particularly  agreeable  just  now.  I  shall  not  be  sorry  to  see  the 
Champs-Ely s6es  again." 

As  for  Irene,  when  she  heard  of  the  intended  return  to  Rome, 
it  was  with  a  sense  of  relief  almost  as  great  as  pleasure.  The 
solemn  walls,  the  great,  noble  churches,  the  deep-colored  streets, 
were  to  her  like  a  vision  of  the  native  hearth  to  a  homesick  wan- 
derer. There,  if  anywhere,  peace  was  to  be  won — there,  where 
every  memory  of  history  and  tradition  of  faith  were  like  hands 
stretched  out  to  aid  the  struggling  soul. 

So  they  returned  to  Rome,  and,  on  the  afternoon  of  the  day 
following  their  arrival,  while  Mrs.  Falconer  went  to  Lady  Dor- 
chester, to  hear  an  authoritative  account  of  the  reports  concern- 
ing Irene,  which  Stanhope  had  mentioned,  Irene  herself  begged 
Mrs.  Vance  to  go  out  with  her  on  one  of  their  old  expeditions. 
Taking  a  carriage,  they  went  to  that  stately  basilica  which  crowns 
the  Equiline — "  St.  Mary's  snowy  fane  " — the  beautiful  story  of 
the  foundation  of  which  is  yearly  commemorated,  on  the  5th  of 
August,  by  showers  of  white  rose-leaves  which,  during  the  sol- 
emn high  mass,  are  continuously  floating  down  from  the  ceiling 
"like  a  leafy  mist  between  priests  and  worshipers,"  in  memory 
of  the  original  miraculous  fall  of  snow.  There  is  not  in  Rome  a 
more  beautiful  and  harmonious  building  than  this  ancient  and 
patriarchal  basilica.  The  magnificent  nave,  with  its  avenue  of 
marble  columns,  surmounted  by  a  frieze  of  mosaic  pictures  of  the 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  527 

fifth  century,  seems,  as  one  advances,  to  increase  indefinitely  in 
length  and  majesty.  The  pavement  under  foot  is  of  splendid 
opus-alexandrinum,  the  crimson  and  violet  hues  of  which  contrast 
with  the  white  marble  of  the  pillars  and  the  rich  gilding  of  the 
carved  and  paneled  roof,  covered  with  the  first  gold  brought  to 
Spain  from  the  New  World,  and  presented  by  Ferdinand  and 
Isabella  to  this  basilica,  which,  in  the  days  when  Christendom 
existed  in  fact  as  well  as  in  name,  was  under  the  protection  of 
the  sovereigns  of  Spain,  as  that  of  St.  John  Lateran  was  of  the 
sovereigns  of  France,  and  that  of  St.  Paolo  fuori  le  mura  of  [the 
sovereigns  of  England.  Glorious  mosaics  of  the  thirteenth  cent- 
ury cover  the  vault  of  the  tribune,  and  look  down  with  the  calm 
serenity  of  the  faith  which  produced 'them;  porphyry  columns 
support  the  great  baldacchino  over  the  high  altar,  precious  mar- 
bles and  alabasters  line  the  chapels.  Loving  hearts  and  generous 
hands  have,  for  fifteen  centuries,  brought  their  treasures  of  wealth 
and  art,  and  poured  them  out  in  this  noble  sanctuary— making  it 
in  beauty,  as  in  antiquity,  Santa  Maria  Maggiore. 

To  Irene  these  old  temples  were  the  very  shrines  and  home  of 
peace.  "When  the  heavy  curtain  of  the  door  fell,  the  world  was 
to  her  like  a  thing  forgotten.  No  footstep  wandering  down  the 
mighty  aisles  could  stir  the  repose  which  filled  them.  To-day 
she  felt  strangely  languid  and  inert,  but  still  the  customary  sense 
of  rest  seemed  to  meet  her  like  a  benediction  as  she  walked  down 
the  great  nave  of  the  church.  At  another  time  she  would  have 
been  thrilled  to  the  quick  with  its  long  array  of  glorious  memo- 
ries, extending  over  all  the  ages  since  that  August  day  in  the  year 
of  our  Lord  352,  when  Pope  Liberius  solemnly  consecrated  this 
spot  to  God  and  the  Blessed  Mother  of  God.  But  personal  emo- 
tion is  narrowing  in  its  effect,  and  she  was  suffering  under  the 
long-continued  strain  of  a  personal  emotion  of  the  keenest  order 
— an  emotion  from  which  she  was  now  seeking  refuge  and  relief. 
Crossing  over  to  the  beautiful  Chapel  of  the  Holy  Sacrament,  she 
knelt  there  so  long  that  Mrs.  Vance  at  length  touched  her  shoul- 
der. "When  she  rose — as  she  did  at  once — the  elder  lady  wag 
struck  by  her  strangely  pallid  look. 

"My  dear,"  she  said,  quickly,  "  you  have  been  too  long  in  this 
cold  church.  Come  out  into  the  sunshine  immediately." 


528  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"I  am  cold,"  Irene  said,  with  an  involuntary  shiver,  "  though 
I  did  not  think  of  it  before.  Yet  the  atmosphere  of  the  church 
seemed  very  pleasant  to  me  when  we  entered  it." 

"  It  strikes  with  a  chill,  however,  when  one  stays  too  long," 
said  Mrs.  Vance.  She  took  the  girl's  hand  as  she  spoke.  "  You 
feel  as  if  you  had  a  chill,"  she  said.  "  I  shall  take  you  home  at 
once." 

But  against  this  Irene  protested.  And  thinking  that  what  she 
felt  was  probably  only  the  effect  of  having  been  long  motionless, 
in  an  atmosphere  much  colder  than  that  of  the  outer  air,  Mrs. 
Vance  consented  to  go  with  her  to  the  May  devotions  and  Bene- 
diction at  Sant'  Andrea  <3ella  Valle.  But,  when  this  was  over, 
and  they  came  out  of  the  church  into  the  dying  evening  light,  it 
was  quite  evident  that  it  was  no  passing  chill  that  had  fastened 
on  Irene.  She  was  now  white  as  a  sheet,  and  shaking  with  cold. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  I  must  be  ill,"  she  said.  "  I  feel  wretch- 
edly." 

"I  wish  I  had  insisted  on  going  home  from  Santa  Maria  Mag- 
giore,"  said  Mrs.  Vance. 

They  drove  quickly  home  now,  and,  when  they  alighted  under 
their  own  portone,  Irene  said : 

"I  will  go  to  bed  at  once,  and  no  doubt  I  shall  be  well  to-mor- 
row ;  but  first  I  must  speak  to  Mrs.  Falconer,  lest  she  should  be 
uneasy  about  me,  and  tell  her  why  I  can  not  appear  at  dinner." 

Antonio  opened  the  door  for  them,  and  she  turned  into  the 
grand  sala,  intending  to  pass  on  to  the  boudoir,  where  Mrs.  Fal- 
coner would  probably  be.  But  her  first  glance  as  she  entered  the 
room  showed  her  Mrs.  Falconer  talking  to  Stanhope.  Both 
turned  as  she  appeared,  and  on  the  faces  of  both  was  set  the 
seal  of  some  new  and  startling  knowledge— set  so  unmistakably 
that  attempt  at  concealment  was  vain.  Irene  stopped  short :  a 
wild  fear  touched  her  heart.  She  saw  again  a  figure  standing  in 
the  evening  light  above  the  fever-haunted  lake  of  Ninfa.  She 
grew,  if  possible,  paler  than  she  had  been  before,  and,  putting 
out  her  hand,  grasped  the  back  of  a  chair.  Yet,  when  she  spoke, 
her  voice  was  calm  though  tense : 

"  What  has  happened  ?  What  is  the  matter  that  you  both  look 
so  strangely  ?  "  she  asked. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  529 

They  exchanged  glances,  and  Mrs.  Falconer  murmured,  "It 
may  be  best  to  tell  her  at  once." 

"  It  would  be  much  the  best,"  said  Irene,  who  divined  rather 
than  heard  the  words.  "  What  is  it? " 

Stanhope  advanced  and  took  one  of  her  cold  hands.  "  It  is 
something,"  he  said,  gravely,  "  which  can  not  be  a  grief,  but  may 
be  a  shock  to  you."  He  paused  an  instant,  then  added,  "  Prince 
Waldegrave  is  dead." 

She  stared  at  him  for  a  moment  as  if  she  did  not  comprehend. 
Then,  with  dilated  eyes  still  fixed  on  his  face,  repeated  in  a  whis- 
per, "  Dead — are  you  sure  ? " 

"  Perfectly  sure.     He  died  in  Nice  this  morning." 

"  Dead !  "  she  repeated.  It  seemed  as  if  her  lips  could  utter 
no  other  sound.  Her  eyes  left  Stanhope's  face  and  passed  over 
the  familiar  scene  around  her,  but  finally  turned  back  to  him  with 
the  same  awe-struck  look.  "It  was  here  that  he  stood,"  she 
said.  "Here  that  I  told  him  I  would  sooner  die  than  forgive 
him.  But  it  is  he  who  has  died,  and  that  was  my  last  opportunity 
to  do  what  my  mother  asked.  He  humbled  his  pride  to  come — 
/was  hard  and  merciless.  Now  he  has  gone  to  answer  at  another 
bar."  She  threw  her  arms  suddenly  above  her  head.  "  O  my 
God,  forgive  him !  "  she  cried. 

The  next  moment  she  had  fallen  fainting  at  Stanhope's  feet. 


CHAPTER  XYIII. 

THE  physician  who  was  called  in  to  see  IrSne  looked  so  grave 
that  Mrs.  Falconer,  who  had  heard  from  Mrs.  Vance  of  the  state 
in  which  the  girl  had  returned  home,  asked  anxiously  if  he  feared 
anything  serious. 

"It  is  best  to  be  frank  with  you,"  he  answered.  "There  is 
danger  of  something  very  serious.  The  young  lady  has  taken 
fever.  How  virulent  its  form  may  be,  I  can  not  yet  tell — but 
there  is  much  to  fear." 

It  was  indeed  true.  A  frame  weakened  by  mental  straggle 
and  laid  open  to  the  influence  of  disease  had  absorbed  some  mala- 
ria amid  the  flowery  haunts  of  Ninfa.  The  languor  which  had 
23 


530  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

oppressed  her  ever  since  leaving  there  was  thus  in  a  measure 
accounted  for ;  but  the  fever  which  would  have  resulted  in  any 
case  was  aggravated  by  the  shock  which  had  ended  her  long 
struggle. 

A  struggle  of  another  kind  followed  now — one  for  life  or 
death.  The  fever  was  not  that  violent  disease  which  runs  its 
fatal  course  in  a  day  or  two ;  but  was  of  a  lingering  form,  in 
which  there  were  many  fluctuations,  trying  to  the  hearts  and  tor- 
menting to  the  hopes  of  those  who  watched  beside  the  bed  where 
the  sick  girl  tossed  in  delirium  or  lay  in  a  heavy  stupor.  So  close 
was  the  battle,  so  unceasing  had  to  be  the  vigilance,  that  these 
watchers  hardly  took  note  or  measure  of  the  passage  of  time. 
Everything  was  for  them  narrowed  down  to  the  hours  for  medi- 
cine, to  the  signs  of  the  doctor's  face,  to  all  those  things  which 
go  to  make  up  the  struggle  of  life  or  death  in  desperate  illness. 

Meanwhile,  the  world  beyond  the  sick-room  did  not  fail  in 
kindness  and  attention.  Prince  Waldegrave's  death,  and  the  ro- 
mantic stories  which  had  been  floating  in  the  air,  had  quickened 
interest  in  Irene  even  beyond  the  point  where  it  would  in  any 
case  have  been  felt.  Numbers  of  cards  and  flowers  were  daily 
left  at  Mrs.  Falconer's  door,  and  Antonio  was  constantly  occupied 
with  answering  inquiries. 

At  length  there  came  a  day  when  he  kept  guard  outside  the 
door  of  the  apartment,  in  order  that  no  touch  of  its  bell  might 
disturb  the  carefully  guarded  quiet  within ;  and  those  who  came 
heard  that  the  signorina  lay  almost  at  the  point  of  death — so  low 
that  there  was  little  hope  of  her  ever  rallying  again. 

The  inquirers  said  to  each  other  that  the  end  was  no  doubt  near 
— and  those  who  were  Catholic,  as  they  turned  away,  dropped 
into  the  nearest  church  to  pray  for  the  soul  in  its  agony.  But  in 
the  room  where  Irene  lay  there  was  rather  the  battle  of  desperate 
hope  than  the  calm  which  follows  surrender.  The  doctor's  low- 
voiced  orders  were  executed  instantly  by  the  Sister  of  Charity 
who  had  been  installed  as  chief  nurse  from  the  first,  and  by  Mrs. 
Falconer  and  Mrs.  Vance.  Stimulants  were  unceasingly  adminis- 
tered, and  every  effort  made  to  keep  the  fever-wasted  strength 
from  sinking  utterly.  The  fatal  fire  certainly  seemed  burned  out. 
Like  whitest  marble  now  was  the  skin  so  lately  flushed  deep-red, 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  531 

and  the  lids  lay  heavily  over  the  eyes  which  had  been  so  brilliant 
with  the  light  of  delirium.  Every  few  minutes  the  doctor  would 
lift  one  attenuated  hand  which  lay  on  the  silken  coverlet,  to  feel 
the  feeble  pulse  where  the  vein  ran  like  an  azure  thread  under  the 
skin. 

They  are  terrible  and  heart-sickening  moments  these — when 
life  and  death  hang  in  a  balance  so  evenly  poised  that  the  watcher 
listens,  with  every  sense  intensely  strained,  for  the  faint  breathing 
— fearing  that  it  may  have  ceased.  More  than  once  they  thought 
that  the  breath  had  ceased.  "This  is  the  supreme  crisis,"  the 
doctors  said.  "  It  is  now  simply  a  question  whether  or  not  we 
can  support  nature  with  stimulants  until  the  turn  of  the  tide 
comes — if  it  comes  at  all." 

The  battle  lasted  through  twelve  hours.  Then  the  turn  of  the 
tide  came.  Her  pulse  grew  stronger,  her  breathing  more  percep- 
tible. She  was  still  unconscious,  but  her  state  was  now  more 
like  sleep  than  stupor.  The  doctor's  face  relaxed.  He  caught 
Mrs.  Falconer's  appealing  look,  and  said:  "Go  to  bed  and  rest. 
There  is  hope." 

Several  hours  later  Irene  awoke — conscious  for  the  first  time 
in  many  days,  though  weak  as  an  infant,  and  needing  more  than 
ever,  if  possible,  the  most  careful  nursing.  Food,  stimulant, 
sleep — these  things  alone  marked  the  recurring  days,  for  what 
seemed  an  indefinite  length  of  time.  As  in  a  dream,  she  saw 
familiar  faces  bending  over  her,  she  took  submissively  whatever 
was  put  to  her  lips,  and  wondered  in  a  vague  manner  at  her  own 
helplessness  when  she  found  that  she  was  not  able  to  lift  her  head 
from  the  pillow. 

"I  have  been  very  ill,  have  I  not?"  she  whispered  one  day 
faintly  to  the  Sister  who  supported  her  with  one  arm,  while  with 
the  other  she  held  a  cup  of  broth  to  her  lips. 

"  You  have  been  at  death's  door,  my  child,"  was  the  answer. 
"  But  God  has  seen  fit  to  call  you  back.  He  has  given  you  your 
life  a  second  time." 

The  gentle  voice  sank  into  the  depths  of  Irene's  heart.  Tears 
— which  in  weakness  come  easily — filled  her  great  hollow  eyes. 
"  I  do  not  see  why  He  should  have  given  it  again  to  one  who  has 
made  no  more  of  it  than  I  have,"  she  said. 


532  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"Ah,"  said  the  Sister,  cheerfully,  "that  is  God's  way.  If  he 
waited  to  give  us  what  we  have  deserved,  we  should  never  obtain 
anything.  But  he  gives  so  generously  that  we  must  be  ashamed 
not  to  try  to  give  a  little  in  return.  Now  drink  your  "bouillon, 
and  talk  no  more." 

But  presently,  of  course,  there  came  a  time  when  this  prohibi- 
tion was  removed,  and  Irene  was  permitted  to  talk  as  much  as  she 
liked.  Not  that  she  liked  to  talk  much.  Speech  is  a  great  effort 
when  the  body  is  weak  or  the  mind  weary.  During  the  long 
hours  of  her  convalescence  she  lay  mostly  silent,  feeling  life  flow 
slowly  back  into  her  veins.  It  was  on  the  day  when  she  was  first 
lifted  up  and  placed  in  a  large  chair  before  an  open  window, 
through  which  she  looked  out  on  the  roofs  and  towers  of  Rome 
once  more,  and  where  every  breath  of  air  came  laden  with  the 
perfume  of  flowers,  that  she  spoke  for  the  first  time  of  the  news 
she  had  heard  on  the  day  she  was  taken  ill. 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  something,"  she  said  to  Mrs.  Falconer, 
after  a  long  silence.  "  Did  I  dream  it  in  my  delirium,  or  was  I 
told,  that  Prince  Waldegrave  is  dead  ? " 

"  Yon  were  told  so,"  answered  Mrs.  Falconer,  in  a  low  tone. 
"  He  has  been  dead  a  month." 

Silence  fell  again  for  several  minutes.  Mrs.  Falconer  watched 
the  girl  closely,  rather  dreading  the  effect  of  this  agitating  subject. 
But  Irene  seemed  perfectly  calm.  The  small,  wasted  hands  re- 
mained lightly  clasped  together,  and  the  large,  clear  eyes  gazed 
steadily  out  at  the  sapphire  sky. 

"I  thought  that  I  could  not  have  dreamed  it,"  she  said,  at 
length.  "Mr.  Stanhope  told  me  in  the  grand  sala,  and  I  heard 
it  standing  just  where  he  stood  when  he  came  to  me." 

Mrs.  Falconer  could  have  told  her  how  often  she  had  talked  of 
it  in  her  delirium — how,  not  once,  but  a  hundred  times,  she  had 
gone  over  her  interview  with  Prince  Waldegrave,  and  the  hour 
when  she  heard  of  his  death — but  she  thought  it  best  to  let  the 
past  rest.  As  far  as  Irene's  relations  with  her  father  were  con- 
cerned, its  book  was  sealed  for  ever — the  reparation  which  had 
been  refused  could  never  be  offered  again — the  forgiveness  denied 
never  now  be  granted.  Struggle  was  at  an  end — and  she  had  no 
desire  to  intensify  any  regret  the  girl  might  feel. 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  533 

But  Ir£ne  herself  went  on  speaking:  "The  greatest  human 
grievance,"  she  said — "  and  surely  mine  has  been  very  great — 
seems  small  in  the  presence  of  death.  When  one  thinks  of  the 
soul  before  the  bar  of  God's  judgment,  one's  own  judgment  is 
turned  into  a  cry  for  mercy  on  its  behalf.  And  when  one  has 
stood  on  the  brink  of  eternity  one's  self — when  its  awful  light  has 
shone  in  one's  face — one  sees  many  things  differently  from  the 
manner  in  which  they  are  seen  by  the  light  of  time.  Like  fire 
then  one  beholds  the  words,  '  Forgive,  as  ye  would  be  forgiven.' 
And  /  did  not  forgive." 

"You  forgive  now,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer.  "That  is  much.  Do 
not  excite  yourself  by  dwelling  on  the  irrevocable  past." 

"That  is  what  makes  it  so  terrible — that  it  is  irrevocable," 
said  the  girl.  "  I  might  not  act  differently  if  the  chance  were 
given  me  again — only  no  such  chance  is  ever  given  us  twice — for 
I  can  hardly  believe  that  the  fires  of  passion  are  all  burned  out ; 
but  at  least  I  see  my  mother's  wisdom  now.  She  wished  to  spare 
me  what  I  have  suffered  and  must  suffer  yet.  She  wished  me  to 
reach  a  noble  height :  but  I  was  too  weak — too  weak.  Yet  how- 
plain  it  is,  in  the  light  of  the  eternity  into  which  Tie  has  entered, 
and  on  the  threshold  of  which  I  have  stood !  No  wrong  has  any 
real  power  to  harm  us  unless  we  suffer  it  to  drag  us  down  to  ha- 
tred. That  was  my  mother's  word.  I  understand  it  now." 

"My  poor  child,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  "have  you  not  suffered 
enough  ?  Try  to  forgive  yourself.  Try  to  forget  the  past." 

"That  is  difficult,"  said  IrSne.  " Forgetfulness  is  not  in  our 
power.'' 

But  after  this  she  said  no  more  on  the  subject,  and  when  pres- 
ently Mrs.  Falconer  began  to  speak  of  leaving  Borne,  she  listened 
with  interest  to  her  plans,  which  were  briefly  that,  as  soon  as  she 
was  able  to  travel,  they  would  go  to  the  Lago  di  Como,  and  thence 
to  the  Engadine.  "  Where  we  will  stay,"  Mrs.  Falconer  added, 
"  until  you  have  quite  recovered  your  strength." 

A  fortnight  later  the  doctor  declared  that  this  programme 
should  be  carried  out— that  Ire"ne  was  sufficiently  strong  to  travel, 
and  that  she  needed  a  more  bracing  atmosphere  than  that  of  Rome. 
So,  preparations  for  departure  were  hurried  forward  ;  and,  with  a 
mingled  sense  of  regret  at  going  and  of  longing  for  the  pure,  health- 


534:  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

giving  air  which  she  knew  awaited  her  in  that  high  region  of 
peaks  and  clouds  to  which  they  were  bound,  Irene  saw  their  last 
days  in  Home  drawing  to  a  close. 

It  was  on  the  last  day  but  one  that  Erne  came  in  to  dinner, 
and  having  been  told  that  Irene  had  for  the  first  time  that  after- 
noon been  taken  out  for  a  short  drive,  asked  why  they  had  not 
gone  to  St.  Peter's.  "Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "that  the  Qua- 
rant'  Ore  is  going  on  there  ?  And  anything  more  beautiful  than 
that  devotion  in  St.  Peter's  can  not  be  conceived." 

"  Oh,  I  did  not  know,  or  I  should  have  begged  to  be  taken," 
said  Irene,  in  a  tone  full  of  regret.  She  was  lying  on  a  sofa 
in  the  boudoir,  where  the  small  party,  consisting  only  of  Mrs. 
Falconer,  Mrs.  Vance,  Stanhope,  and  Erne,  were  assembled.  The 
lights  were  low,  for  the  windows  were  wide  open,  and  the  warm 
air  was  heavy  with  the  fragrance  of  flowers  which  filled  the  apart- 
ment. In  the  dim  light,  Erne — who  sat  by  the  sofa — thought  that 
Irene  looked  more  like  a  spirit  than  a  woman,  as  she  lay,  wrapped 
in  a  white,  fleecy  shawl  which,  despite  the  warmth,  Mrs.  Falconer 
had  insisted  on  throwing  over  her.  She  raised  herself  a  little  as 
she  went  on  speaking : 

"I  would  not  have  missed  it  for  anything — if  I  had  only 
known !  What  a  last  memory  it  would  be  to  take  away  from 
Borne ! " 

"  "Why  should  we  not  go  now  ?  "  asked  Erne,  eager  to  gratify 
her.  "It  is  even  more  beautiful  by  night  than  by  day,  you 
know." 

"  If  it  were  only  possible — if  they  would  only  let  me !  "  she 
said. 

"  There  can  snrely  be  no  possibility  of  harm  for  you,  if  we 
drive  there  quickly  in  a  close  carriage,"  he  said. 

But,  when  the  matter  was  proposed  to  Mrs.  Falconer,  she  was 
of  another  opinion.  She  was  quite  sure  that  it  would  not  do  to 
think  of  taking  Irene  out  at  night,  until  Stanhope,  moved  by 
Irene's  great  desire,  finally  agreed  with  Erne  that  it  was  difficult 
to  see  how  the  drive  to  St.  Peter's  in  a  close  carriage  could  harm 
her. 

"  Yon  must  take  the  responsibility,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer, 
"  for  I  fear  that  it  is  most  imprudent." 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  535 

"  Oh,  I  will  wear  a  fur  cloak,  if  necessary,"  said  Ire"  ne.  "  Only 
pray  let  me  go !  " 

"  You  must  promise  not  to  stay  a  moment  longer  than  I  think 
right,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer. 

Irene  readily  promised  this,  or  anything  else  which  could  be 
demanded  of  her,  and  the  carriage  was  ordered.  Muffled  up 
closely,  she  went  down  on  Stanhope's  arm,  and  the  party  were 
soon  driving  across  the  moonlit  city.  They  had  a  brief  glimpse 
of  the  brilliant  Corso,  with  its  festive-looking  stream  of  modern 
life;  then  they  plunged  into  narrow  mediaeval  streets,  over- 
shadowed by  tall  houses ;  then  crossed  the  Ponte  San  Angelo, 
with  the  solemn  Tiber  flowing  below,  and  saw  above  them  the 
mighty  walls  of  the  Castle,  witli  the  glorious  angel  standing  out 
superbly  in  floods  of  moonlight ;  then  drove  through  the  Leonine 
City  into  the  great  square  of  St.  Peter's,  with  its  fountains  flash- 
ing silver  in  the  lustrous  light,  which  lay  white  as  snow  over  the 
immense  piazza  and  its  sweeping,  statue-crowned  colonnades. 

The  carriage  drew  up  at  the  foot  of  the  steps,  which  people 
were  here  and  there  ascending  or  descending,  looking,  if  pos- 
sible, more  like  pygmies  by  moonlight  than  by  daylight.  Ire*ne 
slowly  mounted  with  the  aid  of  Stanhope's  arm,  and  supported 
by  it  across  the  portico  and  vestibule,  entered  the  church.  Stan- 
hope heard  her  draw  her  breath  with  a  deep  inspiration  as  the 
curtain  was  lifted  and  the  wonderful  effect  of  the  interior  burst 
upon  them. 

It  was  an  effect  of  which  words  can  give  little  idea.  Beau- 
tiful as  the  Devotion  of  the  Forty  Hours  is  in  any  Catholic  church, 
most  beautiful  as  it  is  in  any  of  the  great  Roman  basilicas,  it  is 
supremely  beautiful  in  St.  Peter's,  where  all  the  majesty  of  "  this 
eternal  ark  of  worship  undefiled  "  seems  only  a  fit  setting  for  the 
radiance  of  the  high  altar.  Irene  felt  glad,  as  the  vision  burst 
upon  her,  that  her  visit  had  been  deferred  until  after  night, 
so  much  was  the  impressiveness  of  the  effect  heightened.  It 
seemed  a  solemn  world  of  infinite  space  and  majestic  beauty  into 
which  they  had  entered.  Far  away — seeming  twice  as  far  as 
when  seen  by  daylight — the  high  altar  under  the  vast  dome  was  a 
blaze  of  lights,  which  were  blended  by  distance  into  a  golden 
atmosphere  of  glory  around  the  jeweled  monstrance  which  held 


536  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

the  Sacred  Host.  At  intervals  along  the  nave  and  aisles  wax- 
candles  of  great  size  were  placed  in  simple  iron  stands,  hnt,  un- 
able to  dissipate  the  obscurity,  their  light  only  made  the  gigantic 
proportions  of  the  mighty  arches,  the  depth  and  height  of  the 
chapels,  the  long  vista  of  the  aisles,  more  apparent.  The  roof 
seemed  as  far  away  as  the  sky,  and  the  eye  perceiving  no  limita- 
tions of  space,  the  mind  was  unable  to  realize  that  it  was  within 
a  temple  built  by  the  hands  of  man. 

As  they  advanced  up  the  nave,  the  splendor  of  the  altar  grew 
more  and  more  dazzling.  Immense  numbers  of  wax-lights  in 
rich  candelabra  were  burning  on  it,  in  the  light  of  which  the  rays 
of  the  monstrance,  set  with  diamonds,  glittered  and  flashed.  The 
golden  lamps  before  the  shrine  of  the  Apostles  looked  pale  be- 
side this  mass  of  radiance.  Before  the  altar  were  kneeling  more 
than  one  cardinal  and  many  monsignori,  absorbed  in  prayer  and 
motionless  as  statues.  On  the  pavement  below  numbers  of  per- 
sons knelt,  and  over  the  whole  church  brooded  a  silence  scarcely 
broken  by  a  footfall.  People  came  and  went,  but  their  move- 
ments were  almost  noiseless.  It  was  a  scene  never  to  be  forgot- 
ten in  its  unearthly  beauty,  its  touching  awe. 

But,  beautiful  as  it  was,  it  was  not  its  beauty  alone  nor  chief- 
ly that  appealed  to  Irene.  To  her  the  most  deep  and  solemn 
thoughts  came  as  she  knelt  with  the  light  from  the  altar  falling 
on  her  face  like  that  light  of  eternity  of  which  she  had  spoken. 
It  was  a  piercing  light,  which  seemed  to  penetrate  the  heart  and 
lay  bare  the  soul.  "  Learn  of  me,"  said  the  gentle  voice  of  Him 
whose  "  delight  is  to  be  with  the  children  of  men  " — a  voice  that 
never  speaks  with  more  appealing  force  than  from  the  altar  where 
he  is  throned  to  receive  the  homage  of  their  love. 

But  Mrs.  Falconer,  very  uneasy  about  what  she  feared  was  a 
great  imprudence,  would  not  suffer  her  to  remain  long.  "  You 
must  come,  my  dear — remember  yonr  promise,"  she  whispered, 
and  Irene  had  no  choice  but  submission.  They  passed  ont  as 
slowly  and  softly  as  they  had  entered,  leaving  the  lights  to  burn, 
the  watchers  to  kneel  through  all  the  long  hours  of  the  night. 
Irene  felt  as  if  she  were  leaving  her  heart  behind  her.  For  this 
was  Eome.  Here  was  the  true  Eternal  City.  Turning  when  they 
reached  the  door  to  kneel  again  before  the  now  distant  altar — 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  537 

but  beautiful  in  its  distance  as  a  vision  of  the  New  Jerusalem — 
she  found  herself  almost  too  weak  to  rise  without  assistance. 
She  looked  around,  but  the  others  were  already  passing  out  of 
the  door.  Then,  before  she  could  make  an  effort  to  rise  alone, 
some  one  stepped  quickly  forward  from  the  shadow  of  a  massive 
pillar  and  offered  assistance.  She  accepted  it,  and,  regaining  her 
feet,  found  herself  face  to  face  with  Waldegrave. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  Irdne  did  not  seem  in  the  least 
startled,  or  even  surprised.  And  as  she  stood,  so  calm,  so  pale,  so 
shadowy-looking,  "Waldegrave  felt,  like  Erne,  as  if  a  spirit  rather 
than  a  woman  was  before  him.  After  an  instant,  she  silently 
held  out  her  hand,  and,  when  he  relinquished  it,  she  turned  with 
a  wistful  look  of  farewell  and  passed  out  of  the  door,  leaving 
him  standing  like  one  in  a  dream. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"WHERE  do  you  think  you  would  like  to  go  for  your  last 
drive  in  Rome  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Falconer  of  Irene,  the  next  after- 
noon. 

IrSne  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  said :  "  I  think  I  should 
like  a  short  walk  as  well  as  a  drive,  and  there  is  a  beautiful  view 
of  the  Campagna  from  the  terrace  of  the  Villa  Mattei.  Should 
you  rnind  going  there  ?  And  we  can  return  by  the  Lateran." 

Mrs.  Falconer  thought  this  a  very  good  programme  for  a  con- 
valescent needing  air  and  gentle  exercise,  and  consented  to  carry 
it  out.  An  hour  later,  as  they  were  descending  to  the  carriage 
which  was  drawn  up  at  the  foot  of  the  steps,  Stanhope  walked 
in  under  the  portone,  and,  being  invited  to  accompany  them,  ac- 
cepted the  invitation. 

As  they  drove  out,  Mrs.  Falconer  looked  at  him  with  a  smile. 
"  Do  you  remember,"  she  said,  "  one  day  in  Paris  when  you  put 
Irene  and  myself  for  the  first  time  in  a  carriage  together,  but 
declined  to  accompany  us  ?  " 

"  I  remember  it  very  well,"  he  answered,  returning  the  smile. 
"  And  you  might  give  me  credit  for  self-denial.  I  only  declined 
because  I  wanted  you  to  know  each  other,  and,  if  possible,  become 
friends." 


538  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

"It  proved  very  possible,"  said  Mrs.  Falconer,  putting  her 
hand  down  on  Irene's.  "  The  first  links  of  our  friendship  were 
forged  that  day." 

"  And  from  the  first  to  the  last  they  have  all  heen  forged  by 
your  kindness,"  said  Irene. 

It  was  not  a  long  drive  to  the  Villa  Mattei,  and,  leaving  the 
carriage  at  the  gate,  they  walked  slowly  through  the  grounds — 
down  the  long  avenues  of  closely  trimmed  box,  under  tall  pines 
and  picturesque  ilexes,  where  statues  stand  out  against  a  back- 
ground of  far  blue  hills,  and  fountains  playing  softly  in  green  re- 
cesses. Here,  as  everywhere  else  in  Kome  at  this  season,  bloomed, 
also,  a  multitude  of  flowers — roses  lavishing  their  sweetness  on 
the  air,  myrtle  that  seems  to  deck  the  earth  for  its  bridal  with 
the  sun,  orange-blossoms  with  their  honeyed  fragrance,  and  a 
wild  riot  of  jasmine  and  honeysuckle. 

Presently  they  emerged  upon  the  terrace.  At  their  feet  were 
the  noble  old  walls  of  Eome,  beyond  them  the  many-hued  Cam- 
pagna,  crossed  by  the  Titan  arches  of  the  ruined  aqueducts,  while 
bounding  the  horizon  afar  were  the  soft,  luminous  outlines  of  the 
Alban  Hills,  robed  in  tenderest  color. 

Even  this  short  walk  exhausted  Irene,  however,  and  when  they 
came  to  that  seat  under  the  arching  ilex-shade,  where  "Saint 
Philip  Neri  loved  to  sit  and  talk  with  his  companions  of  the  things 
of  God,"  Mrs.  Falconer  insisted  that  she  should  rest  on  it.  Then, 
with  an  instinct  that,  in  such  a  scene,  the  girl  would  like  to  be 
alone,  she  said : 

"We  will  leave  you  here  for  a  little  while  to  enjoy  the  view, 
while  Mr.  Stanhope  and  myself  explore  the  garden  hi  the  other 
direction." 

Irene  looked  up  with  a  smile.  "  Do  not  hasten  your  return  on 
my  account,"  she  said.  "I  feel  as  if  I  should  like  to  stay  here  all 
the  afternoon." 

It  was  certainly  a  scene  to  sink  into  the  spirit  and  remain 
engraved  upon  the  memory.  The  wide  distance  of  that  storied 
plain,  over  which  hangs,  like  a  glamour  of  enchantment,  an  atmos- 
phere full  of  the  most  exquisite  tints  and  shades  of  color  known 
to  nature  or  to  art,  the  divine  beauty  of  those  azure  heights,  fair 
as  the  heavenly  hills  "  whence  help  cometh,"  and  the  sapphire 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  539 

sky  flecked  by  soft  white  clouds  which  threw  their  ever-changing 
shadows  over  plain  and  hills,  so  that  the  scene  varied  almost  mo- 
mentarily, and  with  every  variation  seemed  to  acquire  new  charm 
— all  were  full  of  a  power  which  in  Irene's  case  touched  some  of 
the  most  sensitive  chords  of  her  being.  Always  an  ardent  lover 
of  nature,  she  felt  now  as  if  earth  and  air  and  sky  had  a  new 
meaning  for  her.  She  thought  of  what  the  Sister  who  nursed  her 
had  said :  "  God  has  given  your  life  to  you  a  second  time."  It 
was  indeed  a  new,  fresh  gift — this  fair  outspread  beauty,  this  balmy 
sunshine,  this  sense  of  the  great  harmonies  of  nature. 

And  while  she  sat,  silent  and  motionless,  with  the  flickering 
shadows  of  the  ilex-boughs  falling  over  her  black  dress  and  the 
white  hands,  from  which  she  had  taken  off  her  gloves,  while  her 
gaze  dwelt  on  the  soft  outlines  of  the  Alban  heights,  a  step  came 
again,  as  once  before,  down  the  ilex  avenue  behind  her,  and  again 
an  unseen  spectator  paused — full  of  surprise  at  seeing  her,  and 
uncertain  whether  or  not  to  address  her. 

But  so  striking  was  her  appearance  of  weakness,  so  evident 
the  traces  of  recent  illness — even  more  evident  in  this  clear  light 
than  in  the  obscurity  of  St.  Peter's  the  night  before — that  he 
finally  decided  not  to  do  so,  and,  retreating  as  he  had  come,  met 
Mrs.  Falconer  and  Stanhope  at  the  other  end  of  the  avenue. 

The  consequence  of  this  was,  that  a  few  minutes  later  Mrs. 
Falconer  made  her  appearance  in  front  of  Irene,  and  when  the 
latter  looked  up,  saying,  "Is  it  time  to  go  ?  "  she  answered:  "No. 
I  have  come  for  a  different  purpose.  I  do  not  like  to  trouble  you, 
and  yet  I  hardly  could  refuse — "  She  paused ;  then,  as  Irene  sim- 
ply looked  at  her  inquiringly,  went  on:  "  We  met  Count  Walde- 
grave  a  few  minutes  ago.  He  came  here  accidentally — but,  since 
he  is  here,  he  begged  me  to  ask  if  you  will  allow  him  to  speak  to 
you.  He  promises  not  to  be  agitating." 

"Here! — is  he  here?  "  asked  Irene.  To  Mrs.  Falconer's  sur- 
prise, she  exhibited  no  sign  of  astonishment  or  agitation.  "  I  knew 
that  he  was  in  Rome.  I  saw  him  in  St.  Peter's  last  night,"  she 
said,  quietly.  "Yes,  you  may  tell  him  to  come.  But  do  not 
leave  us  very  long.  Neither  he  nor  I  can  have  much  to  say." 

Mrs.  Falconer  did  not  feel  sure  of  this,  so  far  as  Waldegrave 
was  concerned,  but  she  was  very  sure  that  it  was  not  well  that 


540  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

much  should  be  said.  So,  promising  to  return  before  very  long, 
she  went  away. 

If  Irene  required  to  nerve  herself  at  all  for  the  coming  inter- 
view, there  was  no  sign  of  it  in  her  appearance  when  Waldegrave 
presently  stood  before  her.  She  had  not  stirred  from  the  position 
in  whicb  he  had  seen  her  first ;  and  when  he  appeared  she  only 
looked  up  and  held  out  her  hand  silently,  as  she  had  done  the 
night  before.  He  clasped  it  as  silently.  It  seemed  impossible 
that  either  could  speak.  Yet  at  last  he  spoke  first : 

"  You  have  been  very  ill.  I  would  see  it,  even  if  I  had  not 
heard  it." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  I  have  been  very  ill—  so  ill  that  I  am 
like  one  who  has  been  called  back  from  death.  Do  you  know 
what  that  is  ? — to  have  stood  on  the  brink  of  the  other  world,  to 
have  looked  at  this  world  from  the  verge  of  eternity  ?  Nothing 
in  life  seems  the  same  afterward.  One  gets  new  weights  and 
measures,  as  it  were."  She  paused  a  moment  and  looked  away 
from  him — then  turned  her  grave  eyes  back  again.  "I  have 
changed — in  one  thing  at  least,"  she  said. 

"  And  that  thing  ?  "  he  asked.  But  as  he  asked  he  thought  to 
himself  that  she  seemed  changed  in  many  things.  He  saw  no 
signs  of  the  old,  haughty  fire,  and  still  less  of  the  shrinking  which 
she  had  displayed  at  Ninfa.  She  met  his  gaze  with  the  calmness 
of  one  who  in  fierce  struggle  had  exhausted  the  power  of  keen 
emotion,  and  reached  at  last  a  new  height  of  knowledge  and  feel- 
ing. 

But  she  did  not  answer  his  question  immediately.  She  looked 
instead  at  the  mourning  which  he  wore,  and,  when  she  spoke, 
said,  gently: 

"You,  too,  have  suffered  since  I  saw  you  last.  For  you  were 
attached  to — Prince  Waldegrave,  were  you  not?  " 

"  Very  much,"  he  answered,  in  a  low  tone. 

"I  am  sorry  for  you,"  she  said,  with  the  same  gentleness. 
"  It  is  a  terrible  thing  to  lose  one  whom  we  love  by  death.  I 
have  thought  of  you — I  have  felt  for  you — and  now  I  am  glad  to 
have  an  opportunity  to  tell  you  that,  in  the  moment  I  heard  of 
his  death,  I  forgave  him  all  the  past.  Everything  rushed  upon 
me  then — the  realization  of  what  it  must  have  been  to  him  to 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  541 

humble  bis  pride,  and  come  to  ask  forgiveness  and  offer  repara- 
tion—and the  consciousness  of  how  I  had  failed  in  what  God 
commands,  and  my  mother  asked.  I  was  beaten  to  the  earth  by 
that  consciousness.  Illness  had  fastened  on  me  already — but  that 
was  the  finishing  stroke.  I  sank  under  it.  I  stood  on  the  thresh- 
old of  eternity,  crying  for  the  pardon  I_  had  dared  to  refuse  " — 
she  looked  at  him  with  great  dilated  eyes  in  her  white  face — "I 
deserved  nothing,  yet  life  was  given  back  to  me.  I  am  here." 

"  Thank  God  for  it !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  To  lose  one  whom  we 
love  is  indeed  hard  ;  but  if  it  had  been  two —  I  did  not  know  of 
your  illness  until  I  returned  to  Rome  a  few  days  ago.  I  went  to 
Germany  with  my  uncle's  body.  I  had  much  to  do  there  before 
I  could  return.  I  hardly  hoped  to  find  you  here.  Then  I  heard 
that  you  had  been  desperately  ill ;  and  when  I  suddenly  saw  you 
last  night,  kneeling  before  the  high  altar  in  St.  Peter's,  I  almost 
feared  that  what  I  saw  was  not  yourself,  but  your  spirit." 

"With  a  faint  smile  she  looked  down  at  her  thin  hands.  "  I 
have  certainly  lost  all  my  flesh,"  she  said.  "  But  I  think — now — 
that  I  shall  get  well.  For  a  long  time  I  did  not  think  so.  I 
simply  lay  and  waited  for  death.  And  I  do  not  know  yet  why  it 
did  not  come." 

"  It  did  not  come  because  there  is  much  for  you  to  do  in  life," 
Waldegrave  answered.  "And  do  you  not  know  that  the  sun 
would  have  gone  out  of  the  world  for  me  if  you  had  died  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,''  she  said,  calmly.  "  You  think  so,  but  it  is  not  so. 
You  would  soon  have  forgotten  me,  and  it  would  have  been  bet- 
ter— much  better." 

"  Better  for  you,  or  better  for  me? "  he  asked. 

"  I  meant  better  for  you,"  she  answered. 

"  I  deny  it  utterly,"  he  said.  "  It  can  never  be  better  for  a 
man  to  have  an  influence  taken  out  of  his  life  which  might  lead 
him  to  higher  things  than  he  could  hope  to  reach  without  it. 
You  embody  such  an  influence  to  me." 

"I!  "  she  said,  "// — who  failed  so  utterly  to  reach  the  height 
which  was  put  before  me  ?  " 

"  You  judge  yourself  now,"  he  said,  "  as  hardly  as  you  have 
before  judged  others — and  less  justly.  You  forget  how  natural  it 
is  for  one  who  has  been  deeply  wronged  to  be  resentful  and  im- 


542  HEART  OF  STEEL. 

placable.  You  were  deeply  wronged — and  to  help  you  to  forgive 
one  who  is  gone,  let  me  tell  you  some  of  his  last  words.'  '  Re- 
member,' he  said  to  me,  'justice  is  in.  your  hands  now.  Do  for 
my  daughter  whatever  she  will  suffer  you  to  do.' "  He  paused, 
then  in  a  lower  tone  of  entreaty  added :  "  What  will  that  daughter 
suffer  me  to  do  ?  What  will  she  accept  ?  " 

"Nothing,"  she  answered.  "  There  is  nothing  for  you  to  do 
—nothing  which  I  can  accept.  I  could  never,  under  any  circum- 
stances, have  taken  anything.  It  is  not  that  which  I  regret — 
not  that  refusal." 

"Yet  forgiveness,  if  you  had  granted  it,  would  have  been 
empty  without  that  practical  proof,"  he  said.  "And  even  now, 
if  you  forgive,  you  ought  to  take  what  is  your  right — what  I 
only  hold  in  trust  for  you — and  what  nothing  will  ever  induce 
me  to  use  as  my  own." 

"  You  will  not  be  so  foolish,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  alarm. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "I  shall  be  just  so  foolish— if  you  call  it 
foolishness.  Indeed,  I  have  no  choice.  My  uncle's  wishes  are 
binding  on  me,  if  not  on  you.  But  if  you  would  be  generous — if 
you  would  rise  still  higher — " 

She  lifted  her  hand  to  silence  him.  "  Do  not  talk  of  it!  "  she 
said.  "  It  is  you  who  are  generous — but  what  you  ask  is  impos- 
sible." 

"  And  is  it  impossible,"  he  demanded,  with  sudden  ardor,  "  that 
you  can  ever  listen  to  my  love,  ever  give  me  any  love  in  return? 
The  wrong  which,  you  declared,  lay  like  a  gulf  between  us,  is  it 
not  closed  by  death  ?  Do  you  not  know  that  I  have  loved  you 
ever  since  I  saw  your  face  shining  like  a  star  on  this  very  spot — 
here,  where  I  came  this  afternoon  to  dream  of  you,  and  where, 
instead,  I  have  found  you?  Is  there  no  good  omen  in  that? 
Irene,  will  you  not  take  from  love  what  you  refuse  from  jus- 
tice?" 

She  was  shaken  by  his  tone  and  words — he  could  see  that — 
yet  the  face  with  which  she  looked  at  him  was  not  one  to  encour- 
age hope.  Dark  shadows  had  too  lately  fallen  around  her  for  the 
sunshine  of  love  to  have  tempting  power. 

"  Do  you  think  that  death  has  closed  the  gulf? "  she  asked,  in 
a  low  tone.  "  I  do  not.  And  there  are  others — " 


HEART  OF  STEEL.  54-3 

"  There  is  no  gulf  between  us  that  I  do  not  feel  able  to  cross 
— in  time,"  he  answered.  "What  I  have  told  you  before  Ire- 
peat  :  I  shall  never  surrender  hope  or  effort  until  I  have  won  from 
you  the  power  to  atone  for  the  past,  until  you  suffer  me  to  give 
you  the  name  and  rank  of  which  you  were  deprived.  But  I 
promised  to  speak  of  nothing  agitating — and  I  fear  that  I  have 
done  so." 

"  No,"  she  answered,  though  she  had  grown  perceptibly  paler, 
"  I  am  only  sorry — " 

"There  is  no  need  for  you  to  be  sorry,"  he  interrupted.  "  All 
risk  of  failure  or  of  pain  is  mine.  And  I  do  not  mean  to  persecute 
you.  After  to-day  I  shall  probably  not  see  you  again  for  a  long 
time.  Only  remember  that,  wherever  you  go,  you  will  carry  my 
heart  and  my  hope  with  you — and  some  day  you  will  wake  to  a 
knowledge  even  beyond  that  which  you  have  reached — and  see 
that  love  alone  can  wipe  out  wrong." 

She  did  not  answer.  His  words  of  confident  prediction  were 
at  least  uncontradicted. 

And  now  the  shadows  began  to  lengthen  over  the  marvelous 
plain,  its  amethystine  distances  to  deepen  in  tint,  and,  as  a  soft 
purple  glow  stole  over  the  Alban  Hills,  each  town  and  village  on 
their  heights  flashed  like  a  brilliant  jewel.  At  the  end  of  the  ter- 
race Mrs.  Falconer  and  Stanhope  were  seen  slowly  advancing 
toward  them.  Ir&ne  looked  out  over  the  fair  wide  scene,  swim- 
ming in  sunset  glory  ;  then  turned  her  eyes  again  to  the  face  be- 
side her. 

"Let  us  bury  all  memory  of  the  past  here,"  she  said,  in  a  voice 
as  sweet  and  solemn  as  an  Angelus  bell.  "  Never  speak  of  it  to 
me  again.  And  whatever  the  future  holds  for  us — what  it  holds 
is  as  God  wills — I  shall  never  forget  that  it  is  love  which  has  wiped 
out  the  bitterness  of  wrong." 


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IN    THE    BRUSH  j    OR,    OLD  TIME    SOCIAL    AND    POLITICAL 
LIFE  IN  THE  SOUTHWEST.    By  H.  W.  PIEESON,  D.  D.    Illustrated 
by  W.  L.  SHEPPARD.    New  cheap  edition.    16mo.    Paper,  50  cents. 
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and  the  genial  spirit  of  its  author."—  The  Critic. 


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HISTORY  OF  THE  WORLD,  FROM  THE  EARLIEST  RECORDS  TO 
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3  vols.,  8vo,  vellum  cloth,  gilt  top,  $2.00  per  vol. 

New  edition,  in  elegant  style,  and  at  greatly  reduced  price. 

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MONTESQUIEU'S  CONSIDERATIONS  ON  THE  CAUSES  OP 
THE  GRANDEUR  AND  DECADENCE  OF  THE  ROMANS. 

A  New  Translation,  together  with  an  Introduction.  Critical  and  Illustrative 
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General.  12mo.  Cloth,  $2.00. 

"Mr.  Jehu  Baker  has  rendered  a  great  service  to  English-speaking  people  by 
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orate note,  and  a  careful  analytical  index  greatly  increases  the  value  of  the  work 
for  purposes  of  reference."— Boston  Courier. 

THE  PROPHETS  OF  ISRAEL,  AND  THEIR  PLACE  IN  HIS- 
TORY, TO  THE  CLOSE  OF  THE  EIGHTH  CENTURY  B.  C.  By  W. 
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nish forth  such  a  rich  feast  as  now  lies  before  us.  Even  the  happy  few  who 
know  something  of  the  facts  of  the  Bible  will  learn  much  from  the  felicitousness 
of  the  present  exposition.  For  Mr.  Robertson  Smith  is  not  only  a  'full  man,' 
but  has  a  singular  gift  of  making  a  hard  subject  intelligible.  ...  He  loves  to 
blow  away  the  mists  of  controversy  and  show  the  truth  in  all  its  attractive  sim- 
plicity."— The  Academy. 

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the  public  as  independent  effort  always  does.  Mr.  De  Kay  nas  an  unusual  mas- 
tery of  language ;  and  it  would  be  hard  to  find  more  beautifully  written  verse,  of 
a  vigorous  and  natural  sort,  than  one  can  easily  discover  in  this  poem.  It  need 
only  be  added  that  'Esther,'  like  the  poetry  of  M.  Sully-Pnidhomme,  is  one  of 
the  signs  of  the  time.  The  movement  of  thought,  of  discovery,  of  aspiration,  is 
in  a  straight  line.  No  one  can  fail  to  see  the  line.  The  poet  must  run  as  the 
world  runs  ;  and  Mr.  De  Kay  is  at  least  one  American  poet  who  has  felt  the  fire 
of  his  age.  He  will  live  longer  than  the  imitators  of  Longfellow  and  Bryant."— 
New  York  Times. 


POLITICAL    INSTITUTIONS:    Being  Part  V  of  the  PRINCIPLFS  OF 
SOCIOLOGY.     (The  concluding  porl' 
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ERRORS  IN  THE  USE  OF  ENGLISH.  By  the  late  WILLIAM  B.  HODG- 
SON, LL.  D.,  Professor  of  Political  Economy  in  the  University  of  Edin- 
burgh. American  revised  edition.  12mo,  cloth,  $1.50. 

"This  posthumous  work  of  Dr.  Hodgson  deserves  a  hearty  welcome,  for  it  is 
sure  to  do  good  service  for  the  object  it  has  in  view— improved  accuracy  in  the 
use  of  the  English  language.  .  .  .  Perhaps  its  chief  tise  will  be  in  very  distinctly 
proving  with  what  wonderful  carelessness  or  incompetency  the  English  language 
Is  generally  written.  For  the  examples  of  error  here  brought  together  are  not 
picked  from  obscure  or  inferior  writings.  Among  the  grammatical  sinners  whose 
trespasses  are  here  recorded  appear  many  of  our  best-known  authors  and  pub- 
lications."— The  Academy. 

DEMOSTHENES.  By  S.  H.  BUTCHER,  Fellow  of  University  College,  Oxford , 
Sixth  volume  of  "  Classical  Writers,"  edited  by  Professor  J.  R.  GREEN. 
16mo,  cloth,  60  cents. 

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scholarship  to  bear  on  a  difficult  but  most  interesting  chapter  of  Greek  literary 
history ;  ...  the  primer  is  as  fresh  and  attractive  in  form  as  it  is  ripe  in  learning 
and  thorough  in  method." — The  Academy. 

"Classical  Writers"  now  consist  of:  "Sophocles,"  by  Lewis  Campbell; 
"Euripides,"  by  J.  P.  Mahafly;  "Vergil,"  by  Professor  Nettleahip;  "Livy,"  by 
W.  W.  Capes  ;  "  Demosthenes,"  by  S.  H.  Butcher  ;  and  "  Milton,"  by"  S.  A. 
Brooke. 

A  GEOGRAPHICAL  READER.  Compiled  and  edited  by  JAMES  JOHON- 
HOT,  author  of  "Principles  and  Practice  of  Teaching,"  etc.  With  Illus- 
trations. 12mo,  cloth,  $1.25. 

This  volume  has  been  compiled  to  furnish  thought-reading  to  pnpils  while  en- 
gaged upon  the  study  of  geography.  It  consists  of  selections  from  the  works  of 
well-known  travelers  and  writers  upon  geography. 

"  A  sensible  attempt  to  relieve  the  dryness  of  geography  lesson? ,  especially 
vhen  taught  by  text-book  rather  than  orally  from  maps  and  globes,  as  is  still  too 
auch  the  practice  in  American  schools.  The  book  is  also  a 'reader,'  and,  while 


the  pupil  is  being  taught  to  enunciate  and  read  with  precision  and  fluency  aloud, 
he  is  also  instructed  in  facts  of  gee 
oral  course  of  study."— New  York 


he  is  also  instructed  in  facts  of  geography  that  are  absolutely  necessary  to  a  IVb- 
-'-*-  •-"     ~—  -<%k  Times. 


THE  METROPOLITAN  MUSEUM  OF  ART:  An  Illustrated  Folio 
containing  Views  of  the  Interior  and  numerous  Groups  of  Objects.  Edited 
by  General  L.  P.  DI  CESNOLA.  Illustrations  by  George  Gibson.  Imperial 
4to,  50  cents. 

"A  superb  illustrated  and  descriptive  summary  of  the  leading  objects  of  ii'iter- 
eet  in  the  New  York  Metropolitan  Museum  of  Art  will  prove  afresh  attraction 
to  induce  many  pilgrims  to  bend  their  steps  toward  an  artistic  shrine  where 
there  ia  BO  much  to  please  the  eye  and  cultivate  the  taste."— Providence  Journal. 

THE  MODERN  STENOGRAPHER :  A  Complete  System  of  Light-lino 
Phonography,  being  a  Plain  and  Practical  Method  of  acquiring  a  Perfect 
Knowledge  of  the  Principles  of  the  best  Phonetic  Short-hand.  By  GEOROH 
H.  THORNTON,  President  of  the  New  York  State  Stenographers'  Associa- 
tion. 12mo,  cloth,  $1.25. 


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HISTORY  OF  THE  FORMATION  OF  THE  CONSTITUTION  OF 
THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA.  By  GEORGE  BAHCROFT. 
Uniform  with,  and  a  continuation  of,  the  author's  "  History  of  the  United 
States."  In  2  vols.,  8vo,  $2.50  per  vol. 

"  The  American  Constitution  is  the  most  wonderful  work  ever  struck  off,  at  a 
given  time,  by  the  brain  and  purpose  of  man." — WILLIAM  B.  GLADSTONE. 

"  Mr.  George  Bancroft,  in  his  eighty-second  year — an  age  which  few  men  reach, 
and  at  which  few  of  those  who  do  reach  it  retain  the  disposition  or  the  capacity 
for  protracted  literary  labor— sends  out  to  the  world  a  work  which,  in  its  clear- 
ness and  strength  of  diction,  its  breadth  of  scope,  its  wealth  of  fresh  material, 
and  its  philosopnic  grasp  of  events  and  their  causes,  would  have  reflected  honor 
npon  his  prime.  His  '  History  of  the  Formation  of  the  Constitution  of  the 
United  States  of  America'  may  be  viewed  either  as  a  continuation  of  his  pre- 
vious 'History  of  the  United  States,'  or  as  an  independent  work;  and,  viewed 
in  either  aspect,  it  is  a  contribution  to  our  literature  of  singular  value  and  im- 
portance."—Boston  Journal. 

"It  is  nearly  a  half-century  since  George  Bancroft  published  the  first  volume 
of  the  work  by  which  his  reputation  has  cbiefly  been  made,  and  on  which  alone 
it  will  rest  in  after-time.  He  now  gives  to  the  world  two  additional  volumes  of 
his  colossal  undertaking,  for,  although  possessing  another  title,  they,  in  truth, 
are  but  a  part  of  the  work  begun  so  long  ago." — New  York  Times. 

THE  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND  IN  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CEN- 
TURY. By  W.  E.  H.  LECKT,  author  of  "History  of  the  Rise  and  Influ- 
ence of  the  Spirit  of  Rationalism  in  Europe,"  etc.  Volumes  III  and  IV, 
extending  from  the  accession  of  George  III  to  1784,  the  opening  year  of 
Pitt's  first  ministry,  and  covering  the  period  of  the  American  Revolution. 
Published  by  arrangement  with  the  author.  Large  12mo.  Uniform  with 
Vols.  I  and  II,  of  which  new  editions  are  now  ready.  The  4  vols.,  cloth, 
$2.25  each. 

"This  section  of  the  work  covers  the  flret  twenty -two  years  of  the  reign  of 
George  III,  a  period  which,  in  its  bearing  on  constitution?!,  political,  and  social 
problems,  was  the  most  pregnant  in  the  modern  history  or  Great  Britain.  It 
was  during  these  momentous  years  that  the  relation  of  the  Crown  to  a  Ministry 
representing  the  House  of  Commons  was  definitely  fixed,  that  the  necessity  of 
parliamentary  reform  and  the  expediency  of  abolishing  Catholic  disabilities  were 
distinctly  recognized,  and  that  the  influence  of  the  newspaper  press  acquired  un- 
precedented weight  among  political  agencies,  and  called  for  new  guarantees  of 
freedom  bv  chanaes  in  the  law  of  libel.  This  was  the  period  of  Bnrke's  most 
potent  and  exemplary  activity,  of  the  Middlesex  election  in  which  Wilkes  played 
a  part  analogous  to  that  taken  by  Bradlaugh  in  cur  own  day,  of  the  ministries  cf 
Bute,  Grenville,  Rockingham,  Chatham,  Shelbnrne,  and  the  younger  Pitt. 

"At  home  and  abroad  this  quarter  of  a  century  was  memorable  for  conquests 
and  revolutions.  The  affairs  of  the  East  India  Company  were  administered  by 
Uive,  and  the  vast  accessions  of  territory  iu  Bengal  were  supplemented  by  those 
resulting  from  the  war  with  Hyder  All.  In  America  the  discontent  of  the  thir- 
teen colonies  had  ripened  into  open  revolt,  and  all  the  phases  of  the  contest  are 
exhibited  iu  these  volumes,  up  to  the  last  year  of  exhaustion  and  inaction  which 
preceded  the  final  peace.  Simultaneous  with  this  movement  on  the  other  side 
of  the  Atlantic  was  the  growth  of  political  discontent  in  Ireland,  which  culmi- 
nated in  the  demand  for  legislative  independence.  All  of  these  topics  are  carefully 
discussed  by  Mr.  Lecky,  and  the  spirit  which  he  evinces  is  so  candid  and  impar- 
tial that  his  conclusions  will  be  listened  to  with  attention  and  respect,  even  where 
they  run  counter  to  the  reader's  individual  opinions  and  predilections." — New 
York  Sun. 

for  sale  by  all  booksellers ;  or  will  be  sent  by  mail,  post-paid,  on  receipt  QfpriM. 
New  York:  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  1,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


APPLETOIS'  HOIE  BOOKS. 


A  Series  of  New  Hand-  Volumes  at  low  price,  devoted  to  all 
Subjects  pertaining  to  Home  and  the  Household. 


Handsomely  printed,  and  hound  in  cloth,  flexible,  with  illuminated  design.     12mo. 
60  cents  each. 

I. 

Building  a  Home. 

By  A.  F.  OAKEY.     Illustrated. 

"  Mr.  Oakey  discusses  house-building  for  the  purposes  of  people  of  moderate  means 
in  the  Middle  States,  and  gives  plans  and  elevations  of  cottages  from  the  very  cheap- 
est to  a  house  to  be  built  at  a  cost  of  $9,000.  The  conditions  of  building,  with  reference 
to  the  climate  and  material,  are  fully  set  forth,  and  the  class  of  readers  whom  the  book 
contemplates  will  find  it  of  advantage."— New  York  World. 

II. 

How  to  Furnish  a  Home. 

By  ELLA  EODMAM-  CHDECH.     Illustrated. 

"Mrs.  Church's  directions  for  house-furnishing,  while  very  artistic  and  cheerful,  are 
adapted  to  the  wants  of  the  great  army  of  limited  incomes.  The  chapters  wend  their 
way  from  vestibule,  hall,  and  staircase,  the  '  living-rooms,1  kitchen,  parlor,  library,  and 
dining-room,  and  bedrooms,  up  to  the  servants'  quarters,  for  which  last  the  sugges- 
tions are  particularly  apt.  What  may  bo  done  in  the  way  of  home  decoration  and  up- 
holstery is  pointed  out,  with  advice  on  the  finishing  touches  that  so  often  go  to  make 
a  house  a  home."— Philadelphia  Ledger. 

III. 

The  Home  Garden. 

By  ELLA  EODMAN  CHUBCH.     Illustrated. 

"We  have  instructions  for  gardening  and  flower  raising,  in-door  and  out.  Eoses 
and  lilies  have  separate  chapters,  and  there  is  much  valuable  information  about  fern- 
eries, city  gardens,  miniature  greenhouses,  and  methods  of  utilizing  small  spaces  for 
vegetable-raising." — Albany  Argus. 

IV. 

Home  Grounds. 

By  A.  F.  OAKET.     Illustrated. 


,.,ave  way,  how  the 
iparatively  little  ex- 


"  In  '  Home  Grounds,'  Alexander  F.  Oakey  tells,  in  a  very  suggest! 
surroundings  of  a  suburban  home  may  be  made  beautiful  at  compai 
pense."—  Christian  at  Work. 

V. 

Amenities  of  Home. 

By  M.  E.  W.  S. 

u  The  author  has  not  spared  good  sense,  right  feeling,  or  sound  principle.  ...  A 
better  book  for  reading  in  the  family  circle  it  would  bo  hard  to  name."— Literary 
World. 

"  Old  rules  for  happy  homes  are  made  to  appear  fresh ;  indeed,  vivacity  is  the  marked 
trait  of  the  book."— Boston  Advertiter. 

[SEE  NEXT  PAGE.] 


APPLETONS'  HOME  BOOKS.— (Continued.) 


VI. 

Household  Hints; 

A  Book  of  Home  Keceipts  and  Home  Suggestions.     By  Mrs.  EMMA  W. 
BABCOCK. 

"  The  author  has  evidently  been  used  to  the  nice  economics  of  life,  and  her  experi- 
ence is  of  more  than  ordinary  value.  The  book  is  not  entirely  given  up  to  culinary 
items;  there  are  talks  on  various  subjects  that  occupy  nearly  half  its  pages,  and  the  in- 
troduction is  full  of  sound  advice  and  happy  suggestions  on  making  and  ordering:  a 
pleasant  home,  that  shall  have  a  '  certain  physiognomy  of  its  own.'  "—Boston  Courier. 

VII. 

Home  Decoration: 

Instructions  in  and  Designs  for  Embroidery,  Panel  and  Decorative  Paint- 
ings, "Wood-carving,  etc.      By  JANET "E.  ETTCTZ-KEES,  author  of 
"  Horace  Vernet,"  etc.     With  numerous  Designs,  mainly 
by  GEOBOE  GIBSON. 

CONTENTS:  I.  Introductory;  II.  General  Remarks;  III.  Materials  and  Prices ;  IV. 
Stitches  and  Methods ;  V.  Window -Hangings  and  Portieres;  VI.  Screens;  VII.  Lam- 
brequins and  Small  Panels ;  VIII.  Incidental  Decorations;  IX.  Wood-carving. 

VIII. 

Home  Amusements. 

By  M.  E.  W.  S.,  author  of  "  Amenities  of  Home,"  etc. 

CONTENTS:  I.  Prefatory;  II.  The  Garret;  III.  Private  Theatricals,  etc. ;  IV.  Ta- 
bleaux Vivants;  V.  Brain  Games;  VI.  Fortune-Telling;  VII.  Amusements  for  a  Rainy 
Day:  VIII.  Embroidery  and  other  Decorative  Arts;  IX.  Etching;  X.  Lawn  Tennis; 
XI.  Garden  Parties;  XII.  Dancing;  XIII.  Gardens  and  Flower-Stands;  XIV.  Caged 
Birds  and  Aviaries ;  XV.  Picnics ;  XVI.  Playing  with  Fire.  Ceramics:  XVII.  Arch- 
ery; XVIII.  Amusements  for  the  Middle-Aged  and  the  Aged;  XIX.  The  Parlor; 
XX.  The  Kitchen;  XXI.  The  Family  Horse  and  other  Pets;  XXII.  In  Conclusion. 

IX, 

The  Home  Needle. 

By  ELLA  EODMAN  CHURCH. 

CONTENTS:  I.  "Go  Teach  the  Orphan-Girl  to  Sew  ";  II.  Beginning  Right— TJnder- 
Gannents;  III.  Under-Garments— (Continued);  IV.  "The  Song  of  the  Shirt";  V. 
Rudiments  of  Dress-making;  VI.  Dress-making  in  Detail;  VII.  Sewing  and  Finish- 
ing; VIII.  The  Milliner's  Art;  IX.  Children's  Garments;  X.  House-Linen;  XI. 
The  Mending  Basket ;  XII.  A  Patchwork  Chapter. 

X. 

Home  Occupations. 

By  JANET  E.  EUTJTZ-BEES. 

CONTENTS  :  I.  Introductory;  II.  What  can  be  Done  with  Leather;  III.  The  Possi- 
bilities of  Tissue-Paper:  IV."  Modeling  in  Wax:  Flowers;  V.  Modeling  in  Wax: 
Fruits,  etc.;  VI.  The  Preservation  of  Flowers  and  Grasses;  VII.  Spatter- Work ; 
VIII.  Frame-Making;  IX.  Collections;  X.  Making  Scrap-Books;  XI.  The  Uses  of 
Card-board ;  XII.  What  can  be  Done  with  Beads ;  XIII.  Amateur  Photography ;  XIV. 
Miscellaneous  Occupations. 


New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  1,  3,  &  5  Bond  Street. 


VALUABLE    HAND-BOOKS. 


Errors  in  the  Use  of  English. 

By  the  late  WILLIAM  B.  HODGSON,  LL.  D.,  Professor  of  Political  Economy 
in  the  University  of  Edinburgh.  American  revised  edition. 
12mo,  cloth,  $1.50. 

"  This  posthumous  work  of  Dr.  Hodgson  deserves  a  hearty  welcome,  for  it  is 
sure  to  do  good  service  for  the  object  it  has  in  view—  improved  accuracy  in  the 
use  of  the  English  language.  .  .  .  Perhaps  its  chief  use  will  be  in  very  distinctly 
proving  witb/what  wonderful  carelessness  or  incompetency  the  English  language 
is  generally  written.  For  the  examples  of  error  here  brought  together  are  not 
picked  from  obscure  or  inferior  writings.  Among  the  grammatical  sinners  whose 
trespasses  are  here  recorded  appear  many  of  our  best-known  authors  and  publi- 
cations."— The  Academy. 

The  Orthoepist: 

A  Pronouncing  Manual,  containing  about  Three  Thousand  Five  Hundred 

Words,  including  a  Considerable  Number  of  the  Names  of  Foreign 

Authors,  Artists,  etc.,  that  are  often  mispronounced.     By  ALFRED 

AYKES.     18mo,  cloth,  extra,  $1.00. 

u  One  of  the  neatest  and  most  accurate  pocket  manuals  on  pronunciation  is  '  The 

Orthoepist.'  by  Alfred  Ayres.    The  little  book  ought  to  be  on  every  library-  table."— 

N.  T.  Christian  Advocate. 

The  Verbalist: 

A  Manual  devoted  to  Brief  Discussions  of  the  Right  and  the  Wrong  Use 
of  Words,  and  to  some  other  Matters  of  Interest  to  those  who 
would  Speak  and  Write  with  Propriety,  including  a  Treatise  on 
Punctuation.  By  ALFRED  AYKES,  author  of  "The  Orthoepist." 
18mo,  cloth,  extra,  $1.00. 
"  A  great  deal  that  is  worth  knowing,  and  of  which  not  even  all  educated  people  are 

aware,  is  to  be  learned  from  this  well-digested  little  book."—  Philadelphia  North 

American. 

The  Rhymester; 

*)r,  THE  RULES  OF  RHYME.  A  Guide  to  English  Versification.  With  a 
Dictionary  of  Rhymes,  an  Examination  of  Classical  Measures,  and 
Comments  upon  Burlesque,  Comic  Verse,  and  Song-  Writing.  By 
the  late  TOM  HOOD.  Edited,  with  Additions,  by  Arthur  Penn. 
Uniform  with  "The  Verbalist."  18mo,  cloth,  gilt  or  red  edges, 
$1.00. 

"  Ten  or  a  dozen  years  ago,  the  late  Tom  Hood,  also  a  poet,  and  the  son  of  a  poet, 
published  'The  Kules  of  Rhyme,'  of  which  we  have  a  substantial  reprint  in  ;The 
Rhymester,'  with  additions  and  side-lights  from  its  American  editor,  Arthur  Penn. 
The  example  of  Hood's  great  father  in  his  matchless  melodies,  his  own  skill  as  a  cun- 
ning versifier,  and  the  accomplished  editing  of  Mr.  Penn,  have  made  this  booklet  a 
useful  guide  to  English  versification,  the  most  useful  one,  indeed,  that  we  are  acquainted 
with."—  The  Critic. 


For  sale  by  all  booksellers  ;  or  sent  by  matt,  post-paid,  on  receipt  of 
¥ew  York  :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  1,  8,  &  5  Bond  Street 


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H35   steel. 


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